The Final Stroke
by J.M. Bowers
Summary: 25 years into the future, Dick Grayson is now the CEO of Wayne Enterprises's Titan City branch. Now, the man he had hunted for all those years finally returns to settle the score. But Dick has changed, and in turn, so has Slade. So which is the monster?
1. Disclaimer

In creating this upcoming story, I envisioned much of it like a feature-length movie. I am just as driven by music for my stories as I am the topic I'm writing about, so as an addition I have complied a list of the songs I listed to while planning out this story. Consider it a sort of soundtrack, if you will. To help everyone understand what songs influenced my thought process, the chapters of the story will be titled with the name of the song that 'fits' the scene.

Here is the list of songs that helped inspire my ideas:

"Shine Down" by Godsmack  
"Way of the Fist" by Five Finger Death Punch  
"Divide" by Disturbed  
"Here Comes the Pain" by Slayer  
"One Thing" by Finger Eleven  
"There for You" by Flyleaf  
"All Around Me" by Flyleaf  
"Death before Dishonor" by Five Finger Death Punch  
"Threshold" by Slayer  
"White Knuckles" by Five Finger Death Punch  
"Ashes" by Five Finger Death Punch  
"Dead Man Walking" by Bloodsimple  
"Lonely Day" by System of a Down  
"The Bleeding" by Five Finger Death Punch – the quintessential theme of Slade in this story.

* * *

Within the upcoming pages will entail the story of a monster who lurks in Titan City. A man who forewent everything he was in the pursuit of what he felt needed to be done. A man who turned his back on his way of life in order to become a god. But this story is not solely about him. It is about the man who rose from the ashes to eliminate this monster, to free Titan City from the stranglehold of a madman. A man who will become the avenging hand of God in retribution for every life cruelly ended by a monster who hid behind a mask, who now hides behind the people of this fair city.

This is a story about that avenging angel. A man known only by one name…

Slade.

This is The Final Stroke.


	2. Shine Down

"Good morning, Titan City! This is WJMP News, Fox Channel 6, with the news you need at the time you need it. Trisha Williams reporting. It's seven o'clock on this beautiful morning but, as the citizens of Titan City know, this day marks something even more monumental. With that, I hand it over to my colleague, Dave Anderson. Dave?"

"Thank you Trisha. As many of you folks watching at home are aware of, construction on Bruce Wayne's $4.6 billion dollar expansion located here in the city finished up roughly one month ago, and eyes and ears having been waiting patiently for the man that Mr. Wayne will appoint as Chief Executive Officer. Well, the wait is over. A spokesman for Wayne Enterprises has announced that their decision has been made, and it looks at if the hopes and prayers of this fair city have finally been answered."

(Screen changes to outside the newly constructed building. Bruce Wayne, visibly older with graying hair, is in the middle of addressing the public) "-It brings me great pleasure to have been part of this new Golden Age of Titan City. I am well aware that this budding metropolis officially changed its' name from Jump City nearly ten ago to honor a man who has brought peace and harmony to the streets of the now-christened Titan City. For that reason, on behalf of my company, and the countless letters I've received from those who feel there can only be one man who can guide this city's hand, I hereby announce that the CEO of Wayne Enterprises' Titan City branch will be, as those of you call him, 'The New Messiah of Titan City' (loud cheers fill the air) and my friend, Dick Grayson!"

(A shot of Grayson is seen, shaking hands with Bruce Wayne, followed by a hug before playing to the crowd. The crowd falls silent as Grayson steps in front of the podium).

"Citizens of Titan City, you had the chance to make history on this day. I'm just glad it worked in my favor. (The crowd laughs.) In all seriousness, I want to thank my friend, my mentor, without whom I never would have been able to achieve this, Mr. Bruce Wayne - (Applause is heard from the crowd.) – and I want to thank all the people of this fair city for supporting me for all this years, with and without the mask. As the CEO of the company bearing my mentor's name, I promise to guide Titan City into the Promised Land. I ask of you all now, please, take my hand, and together we will walk into Paradise! (Crowed erupts into loud cheering and frantic clapping)

(Screen changes back to newsroom) "You heard it here first, folks. Dick Grayson, the leader of the legendary superhero team the Teen Titans, has been appointed CEO of Wayne Enterprises' Titan City branch. Now, we'll take a look at today's forecast for the week, and man it is going to be brutal…"

* * *

The door opened to dozens of screaming, frantic people. The sunshine poured into the limousine like the first kiss of a brand new day. Not many people could claim that they had saved an entire city from sinking into the abyss. Then again, not many people were Dick Grayson.

The middle-aged man stepped from the vehicle in his three-piece black business attire. Years of charity events and PR stunts had taught the former hero how to dress with style, fashion, and just a little bit of rebel-may-care attitude. His sleek black hair had been kept long from his days…rather, nights, prowling the streets as the hero Nightwing. Being a babyface was no longer a concern of his, so his wore a short goatee with a soul patch and just the hint of five o'clock shadow. He had been playing the bad boy rebel billionaire role for so many years, he practically had it down to a science. Though all heroes age, Grayson didn't seem to show it. His cheeks didn't sag, nor did he have that little paunch that many muscular vigilantes had acquired over the years. Not, he looked almost as if he had stepped out of a time portal back when he had first donned the black-and-blue jumpsuit, and left the days of Robin far behind.

Strolling casually up the entranceway to his first day on the job, Dick couldn't help but play to the crowd that had gathered to cheer him on. Many of them held signs, peppered with such phrases as 'Grayson 3:16', 'Hero of the Crusade' and 'Fear the Night'. Some had T-shirts that an underground artist had dreamed up. It depicted the scene from Leonardo Da Vinci's _Last Supper_, only with Grayson's likeness in place of Jesus. A little over the top, he had thought at the time he first saw it, but he wasn't going to complain. They wanted a hero, and they had bagged themselves a legend.

"Hey, Grayson!" a loud voice bellowed out from the crowd. Turning to look, Dick found himself looking into the face of a grey-skinned woman wearing a long black trench coat and thigh-high boots. To be honest, it looks as if she had just walked out of _The Matrix_, and it seemed she had a bone to pick with him.

"Do I know you?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"I doubt that you remember" she said, her British accent thick as rock.

But Dick did. Not many people with that color skin and that accent knew him well enough to speak to him like he was a regular person.

"Argent," he said, the smile still unwavering. "It's been a while. When was the last time I saw you, anyway?"

"I'd have to say it was the day you fucked us all over," the woman said, coldly. Her mascara-painted eyes seemed full of hate. Pure, unadulterated hate.

"Oh yeah, that's right," Grayson said, a patronizing tone in this voice. His smile seemed painted onto his face, as if he was still wearing a mask after all these years. "Speaking of fucking, whose dick have you been hanging off lately?"

"I don't think that's any of your goddamn business," Argent said, but Dick knew he had struck a chord with the woman.

"I make _everything _my business," the man said sternly, despite the grin. "That's probably why I know that you're not hanging on anyone's dick…you goddamn lezbo."

"You're a pathetic little wanker, you know that?" Argent flinched, but she stood firm. She wasn't going to let Grayson play her this time.

"I…I just gotta know something," Dick said, chuckling. "When you're banging Pantha, do you wear the strap-on, or do you just sit back and take it like a good girl?" Grayson had learned the skill of mind games from the best in the business, and he knew just how to push Argent's buttons. His ploy worked. The woman jumped up on top of the security barricade, but was quickly apprehended by the building's task force.

"You bastard! I hope you burn in Hell for what you did!" Argent's faced was twisted in rage as security dragged her from the premises.

"You first, you goddamn carpet-muncher," Grayson said, smoothing out his suit. Expect for one little snag, this was turning out to be a beautiful day.

* * *

Dick Grayson's office was an engineering marvel. Designed from pure marble, the Executive Suite jettisoned out from the building a good twenty feet, leaving much of the CEO's workspace literally on the edge. Fitting for a hero who had walked the line between evil and justice for so many years. Just the right amount of danger for a man whose best years may have been in the past, but certainly were not about to be forgotten.

It was here that Grayson stood, staring out into the heart of Titan City. _His_ city. The one thing time and all of his detractors could not decay. He had brought this city to the Promised Land, and he alone was capable of turning it into a beacon of hope for crime-ridden metropolises across the globe.

The man found himself jerked away from the memories of yesteryear by the sound of his door opening. Turning around, he noticed a young woman, possibly in her mid-twenties enter the room. She was wearing a casual business dress and blouse, and low heels. Her light blonde hair was wrapped up in a tight bun on the back of her head, and her blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of thin designer frames. This was Isabella Winters, Grayson's personal secretary.

"Mr. Grayson?" she asked, her voice as quiet as a mouse. "Do you have a moment?"

Dick smiled. "I've got all the time in the world, Isabelle. What is it you need?"

"Well, it's just that…" the woman began, hesitating with her words, "I've heard so much about you over the years, and I just wanted to convey to you what an absolute honor it is to work with you."

Grayson raised an eyebrow, quizzically. "Ms. Winters, if you're trying to butter me up, I'd have to say it's working," he said with a smile.

Isabelle laughed nervously. "No, it's not like that," she said. "I just…I've heard so much about what you've done for the city from so many people, but never once has anyone heard it from you."

Dick pursed his lips together, both eyebrows now raised. "You're saying you want to know how I got where I am today, aren't you?" he said, slowly.

"Absolutely," the woman said, before adding, "…if it's not too much trouble."

The CEO sighed. Meeting eyes with the woman, he smiled. "Okay," he said. "What do you want to know?"

Isabelle slowly took a seat in front of Grayson's desk as he settled into his spot behind the desk. "Do…do you remember the day that…everything changed for you?" the woman, asked, not quite sure on how to word the question.

Dick sighed again, placing his hands under his chin and resting his head upon them. "I do," he said, feeling the old feelings burn again within his heart. "I remember it like it was only yesterday…"


	3. The Way of the Fist

"All units, all units, please respond. We have a bank robbery in progress at Jump City First National on Corwin and Jane, repeat bank robbery in progress at First Nation, Corwin and Jane. Send all available units. Suspects inside are armed, repeat, suspects inside are armed and they have taken hostages. Be on the lookout for two costumed heroes. They are pinned down under fire near the entrance of the building…"

"Hot dog, sounds like it's time for us to roll!" Cyborg said, tossing a grease-laded wrench back onto his workbench and closing up the outer housing of his left leg. Fighting villains at quite a clip every night was taxing enough on the human body, but the Titan's cybernetics were burning out at a faster rate than normal. Too much action, he had surmised after their last throwdown. Still, a regular old bank robbery would be easy as pie…

"Attention, attention, all units. Spotters have confirmed the presence of H.I.V.E members in the bank. I repeat: H.I.V.E. members are in the bank…"

"Well, so much for that," Cyborg muttered to himself. "Damn, and now I got a hankering for pie!"

"Maybe we can catch us a slice on the way home," a voice projected from the door way of Cyborg's room. "I hear Tortelli's is open late."

"Yeah, well I ain't ever heard of a Tofu pie tasting any good, so maybe you should let me order," the mechanical man said as Beast Boy smiled at him from the hallway. Although it had been nearly three years since the Titans had put away the Brotherhood of Evil, villains great and small had flocked to Jump City just to see if they could gamble with the Teen Titans. Usually, the house won without too much of a fight, but doubt always lingered in the mind of the Titans as to whether or not one of them would find their number was up one night. Three years hadn't changed Cyborg at all, while the only thing that changed for BB was the mane of hair he now sported. Truth be told, he look more like he was auditioning for a Poison cover band than he did a superhero.

"Yeah, but if you fly, you'll probably gonna have to buy," the green hero said, smirking.

"Man, when are you going to get some money together and stop mooching off the rest of us?" Cyborg asked, slightly irritated.

"When the city cuts me a big, fat check for services rendered!" BB shot back.

The remark caught both of them off-guard, and they exploded into laughter. "Okay, I'll spot you this time," the Titan said, clasping his friend by the shoulder. "Now, we got some bad guy butt to whoop!"

As the two Titans headed down the hallway, they were soon joined by Raven. However, she did not seem dressed for the big dance they were about to go to.

"Woo-wee, did someone call for a hot schoolgirl?" Beast Boy whistled as he saw the girl in a short skirt, boots, and black tank top with her purple hair pulled back in a ponytail. In the three years since the fall of the Brotherhood, Raven had opened up a bit and grown her hair out in an attempt to appear more feminine. However, if one thing was certain, she was still immune to the shape shifter's brand of humor.

"Shut up," she quipped as the three headed for the elevator. "I was planning on going on a date later today, but I see the bad guys of this city have no respect for our private lives."

"They never do," Cyborg said as he called the lift.

"Who are you going out with?" Beast Boy asked, his eyebrow raised.

Raven glared at him, annoyed. "If you must know, Aqualad invited me to a party down at the beach later tonight," she said. "He's got a bonfire planned and everything – and before you ask: no, you weren't invited."

"What?!" the Titan said, looking like a child who had just dropped his ice cream cone. "Why not?!"

"He said that he doesn't want to have to rescue you from the bonfire when your clumsy ass sends you head over heads into it," the girl said, smirking.

"I'm not that awkward!" BB said, his cheeks reddening. "And furthermore, how can you stand to go out with that guy? He smells like fish!"

"Mmm, sounds like a match made in Heaven, Rae," Cyborg said smirking.

"You butt out of this!" Raven said, a small smile forming on her face. "Have you contacted Starfire about the situation?"

"I was just about to," Cyborg said as the elevator opened.

"Hey Cy, could you tell Star to make sure that Mr. One-Man-Army actually waits for us this time?" Beast Boy said, a tone of irritation in his voice. "This 'lone wolf' routine of his is really starting to piss me off."

"You and me both, BB," Cy said.

As the three got inside, Raven looked at the two of them. "I don't have time to change into my outfit in private if we're gonna make it on time," she said, sternly. "So, you two just keep your eyes on the shiny little buttons and off me, okay?"

The two nodded slowly. As the elevator doors closed, Raven slowly pulled her tank top up and over her head. This would be a fun trip down.

* * *

The warm water felt good against Starfire's skin. Tossing her head back, she stood motionless, allowing the water to rain down upon her face. In the older days of the Titans, she would have already been in full gear and heading down to the Cy-Car with her fellow heroes. But things had changed in the past three years.

She smiled, thinking back to that moment after the Titans defeated Brushogun on their ill-fated trip to Japan, the moment where her lips met Robin's again for the second time, a real moment of love and appreciation for one another. As they had gotten older, and Robin had assumed the identity of Nightwing, the two had opted to move out of the tower which they had called home for some many years and settle in at a posh apartment in the center of town. This move also allowed the two Titans' relationship to become somewhat more…_intimate._ Needless to say, the young girl was not showering off after a hard fought battle on the streets.

Despite their relocated status, Cyborg had installed an emergency comlink in the apartment so that when things went down he could contact the two lovebirds for assistance. It was this device that sounded with a loud buzzing noise, startling Starfire and bringing her back to the present. Shutting off the water, she stepped from the shower, foregoing covering her body with a towel. It wasn't as if Robin hadn't seen it all before…

'Nightwing' she corrected herself, mentally. It had been a difficult transition when Robin ditched the outfit that had made him a cult icon in Jump City and settled for a blue-and-black number. His mask, however, remained the same. Starfire felt rather honored to be one of the only people who had ever seen him without his mask. Then again, she _had_ seen him without the costume as well…

A devilish grin crossed the Tameranean's face as she pressed the comlink button stationed in the hallway.

* * *

"Yes, Cyborg?" Starfire's voice rang out loud and clear over the Titan's arm communicator.

"Star, looks like we're on the clock," the mechanical man said. "Bank robbery in progress at Jump City First National. Corwin and Jane. Tell Mr. Hotshot to suit up as well…if he already hasn't."

"Speaking of suiting up," Raven grumbled as she pulled her arms through her costume, "do you think one of you could zip me up in the back?"

"Why can't you do it?" Cyborg asked, matter-of-factly.

"Because my hair gets caught in the teeth of the zipper and it hurts like hell, that's why," the girl said, irritated.

"Okay, I'll do it," Beast Boy said, volunteering his services.

"Make it quick, would you?" Raven told him curtly, pulling her hair up and holding it with both hands.

As the Titan located the zipper, he allowed himself a moment to 'enjoy the view'. Raven's body wasn't as good as Starfire's, in his opinion. No – it was better. Maybe it was the fact that she had never been the one to show off her body for no good reason. Robin might have fallen head over heels with Starfire, but there was just something about a girl no one could touch that turned BB on. It was then that he noticed something that he was certain hadn't been there before.

"Dude, when did you get this tattoo?" he said, eyeing a rather large piece of Tribal art twisting around the lower portion of her back.

"That's none of your business," Raven said, shortly. "Just zip me up."

"Oh, I don't think I like your tone," the green hero said, slowly reaching inside the girl's costume and poking her in the sides with both fingers. To his glee, a small "Eek!" escaped from the Titan's mouth.

"Don't." Raven's single phrase was as cold as ice. BB decided it was time to defrost her just a bit.

"Don't do what?" he asked, playfully. "This?" He again poked her in her sides.

"I said quit!" the girl shot back, angrily.

"Oh. Well then, I probably shouldn't do this…" he began wiggling all ten fingers down Raven's exposed body.

"NO! Quit it! I mean it!" the Titan screamed with fury, but BB knew better. He could feel her body shaking underneath his fingertips. It was only a matter of time…

"I…swear…heeheehee…I'm gonna kill you…ahahahahaa…" Raven squealed as her emotional dam began to rupture. She tried to escape his wandering hands, but the confines of the elevator made that easier said than done. With her hands holding up her hair, she couldn't move fast enough to break his grip. It was nearly over…

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" she screamed in laughter as Beast Boy continued to tickle her exposed sides. "ENOUGHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Come on Rae," BB said, smirking. "You know you love it."

'Oooahhh-kay, you asked for it," Raven giggled.

In the small space of the elevator, the two Titans could see the girl's eyes grow white with energy.

* * *

Starfire put a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles as she heard the commotion on the elevator. In the heat of the moment, Cyborg had forgotten to shut down the live feed, and now the sound of crinkling metal and the sound of a scuffle echoed back through the comlink.

"Yo! No using spells in the elevator!" Cyborg's voice ran out over the sounds in the background. "You trying to kill us all, Rae? It's just a little tickling!"

The feed ended shortly afterwards, but the young girl knew her friends would be okay. This was standard operating procedure for the Titans at work.

With little time to spare, Starfire grabbed a towel and proceeded to dry off her body as she stepped into the bedroom which she and the man she had come to love shared.

"Nightwing, Cyborg has called. We have a miss…ion…" The girl found herself talking to an empty bed, sheets entangled from the moment that they had shared as the sun rose. Nightwing was gone.

* * *

The battered elevator doors opened on the Titan Tower's garage. The Cy-car had already been warmed up via automatic starter. Though the heroes were in a hurry to leave, one Titan in particular came out of the elevator faster than expected.

"OOFF!" Beast Boy grunted as Raven' spell sent him flying back-first into Cyborg's auxiliary workbench. Tools and rags scattered from the massive impact as the Titan sat down, momentarily stunned.

Raven slowly exited from the lift, the energy in her eyes slowly dissipating. Her outfit still sagged, as BB had never quite got around to closing it up for her.

"Raven, my workbench!" Cyborg cried out as he surveyed the mess. "What'd you have to go and do that for?"

"I told him to stop," the girl said, matter-of-factly. "Now, if it wouldn't be much trouble, would _you_ mind zipping me up?"

Needless to say, the Titan was a little reluctant to accept the girl's request. Finally, he relented. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I'll do it."

As Cyborg grasped the zipper, Raven stood straight up, taking hold of her hair once again. "Cyborg," she said quietly, "if you so much as touch the small of my back, I'm going to take you apart piece by piece."

"Not in my plans, Rae," the mechanical man said as he slid the zipper up into place right underneath the back of her neck.  
Dropping her hair, the Titan whipped her cloak out of a small bag, and fastened it to her shoulders. Pulling the hood of the cloak up over her face, Raven assumed the identity that she was famous for.

"Let's roll," she said, coldly. "People are waiting."

As the melancholy Titan slid into the back seat of the chair, Cyborg offered a hand to Beast Boy, who still seemed pretty out of it.

"Man, why do you do that to her when you know she's only gonna slap you silly?" he asked his friend as he helped up back to his feet and steadied him.

Despite the pain, BB had a grin plastered on his face. "Any attention from Raven is good attention in my book," he said, confidently.

Cyborg shook his head as the two got into the car. "You do know that attention's gonna kill you, right?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," the green hero said, smiling.

With tires screeching, the Titans made their way towards another long day in Jump City.

* * *

As the sirens rang out in the background, Captain Winston Zeddemore surveyed the scene in front of him. He had seen a lot of things in his twelve years on the force, but this was something new…and he sure didn't like this change.

About a dozen Jump City patrol cars had been strategically placed outside the doors of Jump City First National Bank. The clear glass windows gave the officers both stationed and arrive on the scene a clear view of the situation, and it wasn't a pleasant one. A dozen or so hired thugs were stationed at the vault doors and behind the counter, armed with sub-machine guns. In addition, there were nearly twenty hostages, including the bank tellers on call that day, sitting on the floor in a line against the outside of the teller wall. But this scene would have been standard procedure for the men and women of the Jump City PD if it wasn't for one snag…well, make that _three_ snags.

Standing about center of the building were three students from the infamous villain 'university' the H.I.V.E. One, a relatively short individual, seemed to be strapped into some sort of power suit, two high-velocity high-mag machine guns mounted in place of hands. This was none other that Gizmo, a pint-sized technologically-savvy supervillain with a mean streak inversely proportional to his height. The man next to him towered over everyone in the vicinity, nearly having to duck his head to keep from bumping it against the fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. Built like a train, he carried no guns, but it was clear that he himself was the most dangerous weapon he needed. Mammoth was his name, and destruction of property and justice was his game.

Zeddemore grimaced as he took in the view of the villain standing just in front of them. Based on her headset and bulletproof vest, it seemed she was the ringleader in this demented circus. Although she didn't have the physical dominance of her cohorts, the captain had read up on her profile, and knew that she could quite possibly be the most dangerous of them all. She was Jinx, a powerful spellcaster who had sought to leave her old villainous way behind. Looks like the old ways were just too much fun, the officer surmised.

Suddenly, he ducked down behind the wall of cruisers. Gunfire had once again ripped out inside the building, and instinct told all the officers to hit the deck. But the cops were the least of the villains' worries at the moment…

* * *

"Damn!" Speedy hollered as another bullet exploded near his head, causing him to push a little bit further behind the bank's reception desk. He glanced quickly over at the smaller deposit station, where he noticed his fellow Teen Titans East member Bumblebee had taken up a defensive position.

The two heroes had heard the call for backup while they were at the local pizza place. The two Titan teams hadn't been in contact since the fall of the Brotherhood, and they had decided to stop by and catch up on old times with a bonfire celebration later that night. However, Aqualad, Mas, and Menos were busy cleaning up the Tower after a wicked night of partying, and promised to arrive as soon as they were done.

Another round ricocheted of the top of the desk, bringing Speedy back to the matter at hand. Man, how he wished they were here now.

"Bee," he shouted out over the commotion, "I can't tell you how glad I am that you suggested we barge in here!"

"Oh, shut up!" Bee shot back, covering her head as another round ripped through the box, taking out the window with it. But she knew Speedy was right. This had been a bad idea.

* * *

Captain Zeddemore took the scene in once again. Bumblebee and Speedy were still pinned down under heavy fire. Against his orders, they had stormed the building, unaware of what the H.I.V.E. members had up their sleeves. Now, they were fighting to stay alive while the officers sought a course of action.

The captain jerked his head back as he felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. His eyes took in the view of a red leather mask with lightning bolts branching off of it. It was Kid Flash…well, _the_ Flash, as the Justice League member of the same name had retired a year back, allowing Kid Flash to upgrade to a more legendary status.

"Hey, Cap," Flash said, a grim look on his face. "I got the transmission about four seconds ago. Had to finish up some business in Alaska. So, what's the sicht?"

"We've got about twenty people being held captive in the building," Zeddemore explained. "Two Titans East members are trapped in the building as well, and they're being fired upon." Looking at the young hero, he gave a faint smile. "Looks like your girlfriend's playing for the other team again," he added, sadly.

"She's not my girlfriend," Flash said, coldly. "Not anymore. We split about six months ago."

"'Fraid to say she's back to her old ways," the captain said.

Flash sighed. "Well, everybody's got to eat," he said, weakly.

There was a moment of silence. Then Flash said, "Look, what if I run in there and pull Bee and Speedy out of harm's way? The hostages are behind the trio, so if you signal the sharpshooters, they should be able to take them down."

"No offense, Flash," Z said, sternly, "but that just ain't gonna work. If anyone of us breaches the building, Gizmo's gonna unload those Gatling guns of his into the hostages. You might be fast, but you can't carry twenty-plus people on your back. Plus, the sharpshooters might be able to take a few of them down in a second, but it'll take just as long for that techno-bastard to murder all those people."

"Shit," Flash muttered, realizing the gravity of the situation. Despite his speed, he'd never be to move fast enough without endangering the innocents in the building. Every plan he was formulating in his mind carried too much risk of civilian casualties to be effective. In short, the hero and the cops were at a standstill. "What do we do now?"

Zeddemore remained silent, his mind locked in thought. Grabbing his radio, he began relaying to his officers. "All right, I need eyes on every building from here to the city limits. Get our choppers in the air, and get ready to back off. Once they leave the building, we should be to corner-!"

The captain's command was interrupted by the massive sound of an explosion ripping through a wall on the right side of the structure. At least two henchmen went flying as high explosives tore a hole in the side of the bank, while others stumbled back from the shockwave of the blast. Even the officers took refuge behind their squad cars.

As the dust permeated through the building, Zeddemore and his men, including Flash, slowly looked up.

"What the fuck was that?" Z said, staring at the hole gaping in the wall.

* * *

The same though was on the mind of every single individual in the bank, hero, villain, and citizen alike. As the dust settled, an ominous figure could be seen standing in the outline of the hole. Its' shoulder-length hair hung down straight on each side of its' head, and its' tone, muscular physique seemed to beckon a challenge. Jinx had seen this figure before, back when she and Flash were still dating. This, however, would be the first encounter with the two standing on opposite sides. Smiling, she sighed.

"Nightwing," she uttered, a tone of excitement in her voice.

The Titan stood tall in the shadow of the building behind him. As far as Jinx was concerned, he still knew how to make an entrance, both literally and figuratively. As stunning at he was to behold, the girl knew that all good things must come to an end. This was his last dance.

"Get him!" she shouted, motioning to her henchmen.

As they charged, Nightwing slowly turned the handle of the metal rod in his hand. The ends sprung open as the rod telescoped outwards, extending into the staff that had been his weapon for so many years. While the criminals he faced hide behind little black boxes that spewed forth lead, he had never compromised himself. His was simply the way of the fist, and these poor saps were about to learn what pain really was.

"Come and get me," he muttered, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. It was time.

* * *

The first was always the easiest. He never seemed to know exactly what Nightwing could do, even though he had lived in fear of his prowess for his entire villain career. A swing and a miss, and a chop to the back of the neck later put him down for the ten-count. One down, eleven to go.

Two more coming. One kicks, the other swings for the fences. Staff blocks kick, arm blocks punch, fist takes face, staff busts head. Three down. Almost too easy.

Another one comes. This one's armed with a gun. So close, can smell his cheap cologne. Rata-tat-tat. Missed. Like always. Too scared to aim straight. The staff whips around Nightwing's head, whistling in the confines of the lobby. CRACK. Staff, meet head. Four down.

The other two back off, seemingly terrified for their lives. Good. Not as stupid as the rest of them. But something's still not right…

That's when the Whirring begins…

* * *

"Eat lead, ass-tick!" Gizmo said, unleashing a wall of bullets in the direction of Nightwing.

"Shit…" The hero outran his words as he charged behind the teller windows. Granted, Gizmo had always been a bad shot, but these weapons more than made up for less-that-stellar accuracy.

Nightwing quickened his pace, narrowing staying ahead of the death shroud of lead right on his heels. A few of Jinx's henchmen had gotten in the way, and had been mowed down by hot lead. A slight miscalculation on Gizmo's part, and a grave error on theirs', but thugs like them were a dime a dozen, and could easily be replaced. Besides, that meant less hands grubbing for cash when all this was over.

The hero neared the end of the teller wall. Suddenly, he stumbled. His foot had caught the leg of a prone henchman, and the momentum was pitching him forward. His heart skipped a beat. Then instinct took over. Landing on his hands, he executed a series of back flips that vaulted him over the teller wall and near the vault door.

The two thugs who had remained at their position in front of the vault were startled to see the hero launched over the five-foot-high wall and practically landing on top of them. Before they could make a move for their weapons, they were face-down on the floor. Nightwing was one step ahead.

"Dammit, I've overheating!" Gizmo growled, slowing the guns to a halt. The rotating barrels of the weapons were glowing red hot, like coals in a barbeque grill. "I need a moment to cool down."

Those were the exact words the Titan had wanted to hear. With uncanny agility, he leaped over the teller wall, his eye on the prize. Both Jinx and Gizmo looked up, a mask of sheer terror covering their face.

Nightwing twirled his staff between his fingers as he targeted the two villains. Technical knockout…

* * *

BAM! A massive fist connected with Nightwing's chin, sending him off-course and into the office area of the bank. Mammoth had just made his acquaintance for the first time in many years.

Shaking off the cobwebs, the hero got back to his feet. BAM! Another solid shot by the hulking villain staggered the Titan. Then another. And another. And another.

Jinx and Gizmo giggled as their teammate beat Nightwing like a government mule. This was too good for pay-per-view, they surmised as the hero's legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. Blood was running from his busted nose, and the room was spinning around and round. Not the best place to be in the middle of a fight. Still, he had been here before…just not too often.

As the beatdown continued, Speedy and Bumblebee peered out from behind their cover. Seeing the state Nightwing was in was a shock for both the Titans.

"Holy shit…" Speedy said stunned.

The sound of the hero's voice caught Jinx's attention. Noticing the two exposing themselves, she quickly reached into her pocket, her hand emerging with a small pulse grenade. With a flick of a switch, the weapon armed itself. A wicked smile crossed the girl's face. Technical knockout.

* * *

Speedy heard the sound of the pulse grenade hitting the floor of the building. The weapon began emitting a high-pitched whine. Only one step left…

"BEE, LOOK OUT!" he shouted, ducking behind the reference desk.

Bumblebee had only a moment to look at the grenade in its' regular form. Suddenly, a massive white light blinded her as the device detonated. The next feeling in her body was pain. Massive pain. She screamed , clutching her face where the shrapnel of the explosive's outer casing dug itself deep. She had never experienced such agony, such helplessness.

For the first time in the young girl's life, she was faced with her impeding death. And she was scared.

* * *

Bee's scream resonated in Nightwing's ears, bringing his mind back into focus. Mammoth had been knocking on his door pretty hard, but he had looked away for the moment to see what his partner had been up to. He could distinctly hear his voice call out, "Nice one there, Jinx!" followed by laughter.

His eyes shuffled around the scene before him. Bee was curled up on the floor, screaming in pain as blood oozed from her wounds. Speedy was stuck behind the desk, his hands over his ears. He was helpless to save his friend, and the look on his face told the story. Jinx and Gizmo looked absolutely satisfied with their work, while the three remaining henchmen of the original twelve busied themselves with collecting the money from the vault. A look of sheer terror covered the face of every hostage lined up like a shooting gallery. They were preparing for death, which now seemed a disturbing reality.

The tears and the screams of those about to die awoke something deep with Nightwing. Something that he had never thought of before, a feeling of fury and hatred for those who desecrated the lives of both the heroes with pledged their lives to protecting their cities, and those who lived in those very cities. This was not the way life should be. Villains who maimed and murdered his kin and innocents for pleasure and profit being arrested and spending time in jail – nothing more than a little vacation before they grow tired of life on Easy Street, escape, and start the vicious cycle back up all over again. There had to be an end. A way to prevent even one more innocent life from being taken so cruelly…

Nightwing looked down at his right hand, and clenched his fist. The device he had built into the costume was functioning perfectly. But, even in a last-ditch effort, he had never employed it. It just didn't seem right. But something was different now. _He _was different now. And a choice had to be made. It was now or never…

* * *

"Mammoth, we've nearly finished up with the vault," Jinx said, tossing her hair back. "I hate to spoil your fun, but get rid of Nightwing, quickly."

The massive villain chuckled ever so slightly, and turned his attention back to the Titan. "Sorry for the wait, Nightwing. How's about I give you a little break-!"

Mammoth's words were cut short as he felt the point of cold steel pierce through his chest, the pain overwhelming as it punctured deep into his heart. His eyes wild, he staggered, trying to stay on his feet.

As his consciousness began fading, he heard a voice come to him, muddied through the murky water in his mind. Still, the voice was familiar…so familiar…

"How about I give you one?" it said, cold as ice.

His knees buckling, Mammoth pitched forward onto the floor of the building. Still confused, still trying to take in what had happened, he closed his eyes, and exhaled for the last time.

* * *

Nightwing steadied himself as he felt the weight of Mammoth drop off of his shoulders. The man had grabbed him, looking for support as he collapsed to the ground. He was motionless, and a pool of dark liquid had begun to build around his body.

The hero shook his head. He couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened. His head was aching, and his right hand felt uncomfortably warm and sticky. What ever had occurred, another villain was down, and only two more remained.

Nightwing closed his eyes momentarily, and let his instinct take over. His enemies might have won one battle, but he was going to win the war.

* * *

Jinx stumbled back, terrified of what she had just seen. Mammoth was dead, and only one man had the opportunity to kill him. Now, that man was making his way across the lobby towards her, a double-edged spike protruding from the knuckles of his right hand.

"Oh, fuck me," she breathed, her mind and heart racing. With a moment of composure, she took a deep breath.

"Somebody kill that son of a bitch!" she screamed, motioning to the remaining members of her henchmen squad.

"Give me another twenty seconds, and he'll be setting off metal detectors around the goddamn planet!" Gizmo said, reloading his weapons as the barrels regained their color.

One henchman was down already, his head twisted around to meet his back. Another screamed as his arm was shattered at the elbow. His head was quickly tucked under the arm of Nightwing and as he was lifted up, he could feel his spine separate from his body. It would be the last thing he ever felt on this planet.

The third henchmen had watched his partners in crime get sent on a dirt nap. He wasn't about to take the same trip. But as he tried to run for the door, a gloved hand reached out and snatched him up by the collar. Falling back, he had only moments to spare before he felt a cold metal blade snake its' way across his exposed throat. Choking on his own life essence, he collapsed to the ground, his body twitching violently before seizing up altogether.

An audible sound alerted Gizmo that his weapons system was up and running again. As Nightwing drew within arm's reach, the Whirring began once again.

"See you in Hell, Nightwing!" the techno-villain shouted. Suddenly, his body shuddered as the cold steel slammed through his eye socket, burying itself deep within his superior brain.

"You first," Nightwing said as he detached the assassin's blade from his fist. Two down, only one left.

Jinx was frozen in place as she watched Gizmo fall onto his back, the ghoulish blade sticking straight out of his face. This was not supposed to happen. No hero had ever crossed the line between justice and murder…at least, not here in Jump City. But Nightwing had just leaped across it with reckless abandon. With little choice else, the girl made a break for the main doors. She had to get away. Even if the cops got their hands on her, it would be far better than him doing it…

Jinx let out a scream as a metal boomerang embedded itself deep in her back, hurling her to the floor. The Titan's aim had been dead on. Painfully, she crawled on her hands and knees, feeling the tingling of paralysis pulsating throughout her lower body. Spinal damage was curable in this day and age, she remarked mentally, but death was still the same old story.

As the villain moved towards the exit, Nightwing followed close behind, a determined look in his eye. This one would not get away, either. He would make sure of that.

Jinx flipped herself over, slowly scooting herself back as she kept her eyes of the Titan as he advanced towards her broken body. Tears of pain and terror rolled down her face, smearing up her mascara. Fear gripped her heart like nothing else had ever done. Death was coming, and Nightwing personified it.

"Please…" she sobbed, holding her hand up in defeat, "don't do this…I beg you… Mercy!"

The Titan's eyes narrowed as she stood over Jinx's prone figure. It was time.

"You don't get that," he said, gravelly. "Not today."

Reaching down, he yanked the girl up to her feet by her hair. Jinx let out a scream as Nightwing wrapped one arm around her neck and the other around the top of her head.

"No! Please!" she cried. But the words fell on deaf ears.

The movement was swift and silent. The only sound audible in the building was the loud CRACK as the girl's neck snapped like a twig. Her body shuddered involuntarily, and then fell still as the last of her life faded away.

Like a robot, Nightwing drew his arms up, letting Jinx's lifeless body fall to the floor. As the carnage around him fed into his mind, he interpreted all into a small phrase.

"Game, set, match," he said.


	4. Divide

Winston Zeddemore sat in silence, his mind still trying to take in all that he had just witnessed. As his men stormed the building, they were greeted with the sight of death all around them. Speedy had rushed to Bumblebee's side as she moaned in pain. Meanwhile the sirens of the ambulances and the coroner echoed throughout the block. The captain sat in silence, not really sure whether or not what he had just seen really occurred. It just didn't seem possible that one man could have that kind of devastating impact on a group of thugs led by three dangerous supervillains, even if he was a Titan.

As the officers checked on the hostages, Speedy held Bee's hand in his own. The damage to her face had been extensive, and her left eye looked to be nonresponsive. Of all the people in the building who should have not been in there, who did not deserve this, she was the worst off.

Suddenly, without warning, two hands slid underneath the girl's prone form, and hoisted her into the air. Speedy followed her up, and found himself looking into the eyes of Nightwing. He had picked up Bumblebee as if she was a child.

"Hey, you all right there, Speedy?" Nightwing asked, checking the hero over for injuries.

"Think I might have shit my pants," the Titan said, his cheeks reddening. "Other than nearly getting' killed, I'm cool."

The hero smiled. "Okay then," he said. "Follow me."

Captain Zeddemore was brought back to reality as he saw Nightwing emerge from the wrecked building, Bumblebee in his arms. Despite the beating he had taken at the hands of Mammoth, the Titan looked like a million bucks.

"Goddamn," he said as he watched the hero hand Bee over to the paramedics. "If that ain't a hero, I don't know what is."

The cop watched in silence as the medic team loaded Bumblebee into the ambulance, Speedy holding her hand as he stepped inside with her. They had been through hell together, and he certainly wasn't about to leave her side now.

"Captain Z." Zeddemore turned to his left at the sound of his name being called. It was Lieutenant Roger Morrison, Z's second-in-command on the scene.

"Yes, Rog?" he asked.

"Sir, we have nine confirmed dead," the officer began, his sit-rep vital now more than ever. "Six are hired goons. The other three are the H.I.V.E. members."

"What about the hostages?" The captain said, honestly not too broken hearted over the loss of three dangerous villains.

"Well, one of the Titans East members got caught in the face by shrapnel," Morrison said, firmly. "She's on her way to Jump City ICU. With any luck, she'll keep her eye and her good looks. As for the others, one gentleman sprained his ankle, a pregnant lady's water broke, and some old guy lost a contact lens."

"That's it?" Zeddemore said, astonished. With the firefight that had occurred during Nightwing's 'infiltration' of the building, he honestly had expected some grimmer news.

"That's the way it looks, sir." Morrison said. Although the news had been good, a troubled look still covered the officer's face. "Captain, do you mind if I speak to you off the record?"

The captain crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll decide that after you tell me what's on your mind," he said, eyebrows raised.

The lieutenant sighed. "Sir, I know that you saw everything that occurred here today, just like all the other guys. What I mean is…" He paused, trying to find the right words. "I just - I would have never figured a member of the Teen Titans to just… explode like that, especially Nightwing. I mean, he took them all out like a trained merc, and he didn't even flinch."  
"That he did," Zeddemore said, nodding in agreement. "So, why are you so worried about that being on the record?"

"Well, because…" Morrison knew he could lose his job for what he was about to say, but the hell with it – it needed to be said. "…Because I think he did the right thing. Those scumfucks, they would've had bail money wired by Brother Blood just waiting for them right at the station. They would have been back out before they even saw the inside of a cell. Back out doing shit like this, threatening innocents just for being there or being in the way. Permit me to say this, sir, but I'm damn glad Nightwing made sure the only place they'll be going today is the morgue."

The lieutenant fell silent. He knew that, as an officer of the law, he was required to leave such mindsets at home when he donned his uniform. However, the escalating violence in Jump City had made him wonder if incarceration of these villains actually did anything more that screw taxpayers out of their money. He knew that, by making the statements he had, he had just shown a high level of bias to his commanding officer, and he very well was treading on thin ice. Still, losing his career was better than keeping his mouth shut. Nightwing's actions had filled him with hope. Hope that vigilante heroes like him could save Jump City from eating itself alive.

Zeddemore sighed. "You know, remarks like that on your record could be grounds for termination," he said, looking the officer in the eye.

"I am well aware of that, sir" Morrison said, contemplating how he would support his family when he got the axe for the words he had just spoken. This just made the next words that came from his captain's mouth all the stranger.

"As from a personal standpoint, I agree with you wholeheartedly," Z said, clapping a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "Those bastards deserved to die – and today, they did."

The younger officer just stared in awe at his commander. Never had he though his boss was tired of the old ways, of police and vigilantes playing nice with the villains, putting them away just long enough for them to come up with another devious scheme to terrorize the citizens of Jump City. But Nightwing had changed that. God only knew what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

As the Cy-Car rolled up the street, the sounds of sirens and voices yelling reached the ears of the Teen Titans.

"Well, looks like we're late for the party," Cyborg said, parking on the side of the road near the bank. "Again."

"Dude, we need to have a serious talk with NW when all this is over," Beast Boy said, sliding out of the car. "He's gonna get himself killed one day."

As the three heroes walked to the scene, they were greeted with a grisly sight: A row of white sheets lined up on the sidewalk outside of the building, blood spotting random areas on the fabric.

"If he hasn't already," Raven said, a tinge of fear in her voice.

As BB and Raven scanned the crowd, Cyborg made his way over to the assistant coroner. Fear gripped his chest as he walked by the nine bodies lying cold on the concrete, hoping to God that one of them wasn't covering a face he knew.

'Damn, Star was supposed to be here, too,' he thought to himself. 'If she's under one of those things…Shit, I don't know what'd I do…'

Assistant Coroner Michael Willis was rather stunned to see the large Titan making a beeline right for him. "M-M-Mr. Cyborg," he stuttered, overcome with excitement. "It's an h-honor to meet you."

Cyborg, on the other hand, wasn't exactly in the mood for writing autographs. "Skip it, Bunkie. How many casualties are there?" he asked, sternly.

"Well…none, sir," Willis said, nervously.

"I see," the Titan said, his eyes growing cold. "And I suppose we're just laying out white sheets on the sidewalk for the hell of it?"

"Look, there were nine dead, but my boss told me they're not considered casualties in our book," the assistant coroner said.

"Why not?" Cyborg said, angrily.

Willis frowned. "Because, as my boss puts it, they're not people the city gives a shit about," he said.

As the coroner resumed his duties, the Titan looked down at the sheets, wondering what the man had meant. 'People the city don't give a shit about?' he thought.

"Cy, look!" Beast Boy's voice brought the mechanical man back into focus. That's when he saw Nightwing. He was inside the bank, conversing with a few of the other officers. He let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad that dumb son of a bitch is alive," he said, looking at the other Titans, "'cause now I'm gonna kill him."

As the Titans headed through the police tape to the front door, they were met by Flash.

"Wally, surprised to see you here," Cyborg said, clasping the hero's hand. "Long time, no see."

"Cyborg, I'm glad I caught you guys before you went in there," Flash said. The look on his face was somber, like he had just returned from a funeral. "Look, I don't want to tell you how you guys should be doing your jobs, but if I were you I'd rein your boy in quick."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Raven said, her eyes flickering with energy.

Flash looked at the three heroes. He didn't feel too good about what he was about to say, but they needed to know, and now was better than never.

"Look, you guys just got on the scene, so you weren't here for the big finale," he began, watching their faces for any sign of comprehension. "You didn't get to see all hell break loose."

"I figured it would come down to that," Cyborg said, surveying the damage. "Strange, though. I would think that, because of such a large team of robbers plus three H.I.V.E. villains, there should have been more officers down from the shootout."

"You would think that," Flash said, a frown on his face. "Maybe that would have been the case…if the officers _had_ stormed the building."

"Dude, what are you saying?" Beast Boy asked, a look of confusion on his face. "That some other team just stepped in and ended this?"

Flash sighed. "More like one man," he said. He didn't name names, but he figured the other Titans could put two and two together.

"Wait a minute," Cyborg said, piecing the puzzle together. "Are you saying that Nightwing took these guys down?"

The hero nodded. The cat was out of the bag, but that still didn't answer all the questions.

"What about the bodies?" Raven said. "There's too many of them for the officers and the crowd to be acting all cheerful about it."  
"Yeah, and that coroner over there told me that the bodies weren't casualties because the city don't give a shit about them," Cyborg said.

That was when it struck him. There was only one class of people those who lived in Jump City would care less if they were alive or dead: _Villains._

Looking back at the bodies, the Titan felt a lump growing in his throat. "Wally, who was here?" he asked, somewhat afraid to know the answer.

"Well, Bumblebee and Speedy showed up, followed by Nightwing…" Flash began.

"From the H.I.V.E., Wally!" Cyborg said furiously, cutting off the hero. "Who was here from the H.I.V.E.?"

"It was…Gizmo, Mammoth, and…" Flash hesitated, not sure of what was about to happen.  
"Who, Wally?!" The mechanical man yelled, trying to control his emotions. "WHO?!"

"…Jinx," the hero finished. "Jinx was here. She was the leader of the pack."

Without a word, Cyborg stormed back towards the white sheets. Grabbing the corner, he threw one back…and gagged in disgust. Gizmo's body lay still, a steel spike jammed deep into his eye socket. The next sheet flew back, revealing Mammoth with a puncture wound to the chest. That was two. The third sheet flew back…

"Oh, Lord." The words slowly escaped from Cy's mouth.

The Titan found himself looking down at the prone body of Jinx, her eyes still wide open in shock from the moment of her death. Blood had oozed from her mouth postmortem, but she just seemed so peaceful, and still just as beautiful. Cyborg closed his human eye in grief. Slowly, he brought his fingers down onto the girl's face, closing her eyes for the last time. No one deserved to die like that, not someone like her. She wasn't truly evil; she had just lost her way. Now, the only highway she would travel on this day would be the one heading to Heaven.

Standing back up, the Titan glared at Flash. It was clear he wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

"Who killed them?" he said, coldly.

The hero's stare was just as cold. "Who do you think?" he said. "The only ones who were shot were hit by Gizmo's weapons. Everyone else was finished off up-close and personal, and the only person in that building capable of tangoing with three H.I.V.E. villains and a group of thugs is your boy."

The anger faded from Cyborg's eyes, slowly being replaced by a look of confusion. That same look spread to the other Titans as well.

"You're telling me that NW murdered them?" Beast Boy asked the hero, his jaw dropping in shock.

Raven, on the other hand, just shook her head. "I don't believe you," she said, sternly. "He was more in control of his emotions than any of us ever were. Snapping like that in the middle of a battle's just not possible."

"Raven, I understand where you're coming from," Flash said, softly. "Look, I wouldn't have believed it either if I hadn't seen it happen with my own eyes. I saw him snap Jinx's neck like a twig right after he launched a boomerang smack dab into her back." The hero paused, running his hand over his head. "Look, you guys do whatever you want, okay?" he said, sighing. "I just figured you oughta know."

As Flash headed back over to the captain's location, the three Titans sat in silence. Could it be true? Had Nightwing crossed that unforgivable line? Looking up at their teammate, they realized that there was only one way to find out.

* * *

Nightwing had finished signing the last autograph for Officer Menendez's family when he noticed Cyborg and the other make their way into the bank.

"Hey, look, before you guys get all butt hurt about me running in solo again, I just want to say that I saw an opportunity and I took it," he said, raising his hands in surrender as the three heroes approached him. One look at their faces told the Titan that something was up.

"Frankly, I could care less about that right now," Cyborg said, his eyes trained on Nightwing. He was watching every move the hero made. "We just had a nice talk with our old buddy Flash out there, and he told us something rather…unsettling. Would you care to elaborate?"

The Titan tensed up. He knew exactly what this was about, and he didn't like how his friends were looking at him. They were giving him the same look that they would give a criminal caught in the act. But he was no criminal. He had saved a fellow hero and rescued twenty people from the hands of madmen. Any other time, that would have been reason to celebrate.

"Look, you weren't here, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna wait for you to get the lead out of your ass so we could stand here and do a funny pose while I shout out, "Titans, Goo!" he said, pronouncing the last words like he was a three-year-old. "People's lives were at stake, and I did what I needed to do. Nothing more."

"The hell you did!" Cyborg said, taking up a handful of Nightwing's costume and pulling him face-to-face. "You killed people, man! You killed Jinx! She didn't deserve that shit!"

Despite the mechanical man's rage, Nightwing kept a rather cool demeanor. "Go ahead," he said, tauntingly. "Hit me. 'Cause the second you do, there's gonna be a whole police department coming down on your ass like a sledgehammer for assaulting the man who saved twenty-plus people today by subtracting a few bad numbers from the equation."

The Titan's callous remark left all the heroes profoundly disturbed. Even Raven could sense that her teammate was unsympathetic about the actions he had just taken. Whatever had happened in this building, it had left Nightwing a changed man…and not for the better, in their opinion.

Slowly, Cyborg loosened his grip on the hero's costume. Nightwing quickly pulled away, adjusting the outfit and smoothing out his hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, coldly. "I think I hear a slice of pizza calling my name."

"Nightwing!" The hero's name rang out inside the building. The eyes of the Titans followed the sound back towards the entrance – and saw as Starfire rushed to embrace Nightwing. "I am happy you are okay!"

"Hey, Star," the Titan grunted as the Tamaranean lifted him into the air in a bear hug. "What took you so long?"

The girl set Nightwing back down on his feet, her orange face blushing with a deep red hue. "I…had difficulty locating the street names," she said, sheepishly. "Despite the multitude of years I have lived in this city, I have never quite learned the geographical locations."

"Then how'd you know where to go during our days back in the tower?" the hero asked, perplexed.

"I…usually just followed you guys to the scene of the disturbance," Star said, her face growing even redder. "Anyway, I am glad you are all okay. When I saw the sheets lying out on the sidewalk…I feared the worst."

Nightwing smirked. "You didn't honestly think I was going to go down in a simple bank robbery with a couple of punk ass villains, did you?" he asked, amused.

"I suppose not," the girl said, quietly. "But, after what you say this morning, I…"

"Hey, Nightwing!" a voice called out from outside the building. Looking out, the heroes realized it had come from a young man in front of a big crowd that had gathered after the shooting had stopped. The man seemed frantic, but otherwise excited to see the costumed heroes. "You fucking rock, man! That was coolest shit I've ever seen in my life! You need to put more of those assholes in the ground, stat!" The crowd cheered loudly in agreement with the young man's comments.

Starfire slowly turned her head back, and looked deep into Nightwing's eyes. "Nightwing, what is it that the young man over there is yelling about?" she asked, confused. "Why does he suggest you bury people under the ground?"

"Not just any people, Star," Cyborg said, firmly. "Just the dead ones."

The Tamaranean's eyes grew wide. It was all falling into place: the white sheets, the cold nature of her teammates against Nightwing, the words spoken by the grungy unshaved man-child – it all added up to one thing…

"Nightwing…" she uttered in disbelief, "Did you…kill those people?"

The Titan's eyes narrowed behind his mask. He remained silent for the moment. How could any of them judge him? They hadn't been there to see the carnage, to hear Bee's screams, to see the tears rolling down the cheeks of those whose only mistake that day was to deposit a check in the wrong place at the wrong time and learn that they would pay for such a transgression with their lives. How the fuck could they know what should have been done? They didn't make those choices – _he_ did. Now, he had only one thing to say to Starfire, one thing that summed up exactly how he felt about his actions.

"I did what needed to be done." There was no emotion in his voice. No remorse for the lives that had been ended by his hands. Those who would threaten the lives of the innocent didn't deserve equal treatment. Not anymore.

Slowly, he stepped around Starfire, heading for the exit. A second later, Star was face-to-face with him again, her hands upon his chest. "Nightwing…Robin…" she said, unsure of what she could say to get his attention. It worked, though, as the hero stopped, and locked eyes with her again. "You cannot do this," she began, trying to reach inside his mind, trying to make him see the horror he had caused on that very day. "As protectors of this city, we are obliged never to step down to the level of those we fight. We show restraint, and control, and we do this because we are better than they are. You told me this yourself…you told us all the day the Teen Titans were officially born. Please, if you start down this path now, you will never come back."

Nightwing stared in silence at the young girl. Star wondered if her words had gotten through his thick skull. She soon found herself staring down an accusing finger pointed right at her eyes.

"Don't you tell me what path I should be walking down," he said, angrily. "You know nothing of what I saw, so your words are meaningless."

"Oh my Gosh," Starfire choked out, her hand over her mouth. It had not been the harsh words on Nightwing's tongue that had frozen her, but the crimson-covered glove that was now in her face. "Nightwing, your hand is covered in blood!"

The Titan's eyes rolled over from the Tamaranean's eyes to his blood-smeared right hand, the same hand he had installed his assassin's blade. The blood must have leaked out when he had slammed it into Mammoth's chest, coating his hand with that uncomfortably warm and sticky residue. However, as he turned his hand over, he felt more irritated that repulsed. 'Bastard made a mess out of my uniform,' he thought. Well, there was a way to fix this.

Starfire let out a gasp as Nightwing ran his hand over the front of her mission wear, wiping the blood from his hand in an X pattern that ran from her shoulders down past her belly button. The feeling of the viscous fluid being smeared onto her body sent a wave of nausea running throughout her digestive system – quite a feat for someone in possession of seven stomachs.

"Now it's not," the hero said to his stunned lover, matter-of-factly. As the girl nearly gagged from what had occurred, Nightwing made his way around her again and headed out the exit.

"Aww, for Christsakes!" Cyborg bellowed out, rushing to Starfire's side. That had been completely uncalled for. Tears slowly fell from the Tamaranean's eyes as she tried to understand what had happened to the man she loved.

"Here, take this," Beast Boy said, taking off his shirt. Bare-chested, he handed the shirt to the girl. "Rae, help her out. We'll make a wall."

As the Titans stood tall, Starfire stripped off her blood-stained top. Her exposed chest was hidden behind her friends as Raven used it to wipe off the remaining blood from her body.

With the other heroes preoccupied, Nightwing stepped back out into the afternoon sun, squinting as he did so. God may damn him, he surmised, a smirk on his face, but he had never felt so good in his life. It was almost like he had been set free, free from the creed he had been forced to take all those years ago in a damp, mildew-covered cave in the hills of Gotham City. With that weight off his shoulders, he felt like a brand new man.

"Hey, Nightwing!" Turning back, he saw Winston Zeddemore standing next to the building, his arms over his chest. All the officers who had arrived on the scene now had their attention focused squarely on the young hero.

The captain's face broken into a smile. "This is for you, from all the men and women of the Jump City Police Department," he said.

It started out slowly. Just one loud snapping sound. Then, it grew louder, the force becoming overwhelming. This was something quite unexpected.

Nightwing allowed himself a small smile as he stood before the thunderous applause of the Jump City PD. The men and women who protected this city from evil understood what he had done, and knew why it had to be done. They also knew that he could be the only man who could do what had to be done.

As the Titan bowed his head, he was pleased that, unlike his former colleagues, the people of this fair city weren't nearly as stupid as they looked.

* * *

"So, they never even prosecuted you for those deaths?" Isabelle said, leaning forward from her chair.

Grayson smiled, showing his brilliantly white teeth. "You kidding?" he said with a laugh. "I was a hero to all the people who picked up a badge and gun everyday and had to deal with trash like that. Hell, even the ones who thought us Titans were making their jobs more difficult and robbing them of hours were cheering me on. Do you know, I have never received so much as a single parking ticket in the last twenty-two years?"

"Are you serious?" the secretary said, her jaw dropping in astonishment.

"Sure am," Dick said, leaning back in his chair. "Needless to say, the Titans and I went our separate ways. Starfire eventually made it back to our apartment, but I was long gone by then. I had things to do, and a city to save."

"Right," Isabelle said, realizing where this conversation was heading. "The Jump City First National Bank incident happened just a few weeks before 'The Crusade'."

Grayson smiled. "You know your history, Ms. Winters," he said, appreciatively.

"Could…could you tell me what spurred you on into 'The Crusade'?" the woman asked.

The CEO was quiet for a moment, and Isabelle thought she might have overstayed her welcome. But Grayson simply leaned forward, his head up on his hands once again.

"Pain," he said, slowly. "Pain that was caused by all these…shitkickers who thought the world owed them something. They would run drugs, and guns, flooding the streets with enough ammunition to bring on World War III. Kids dying in the street, getting caught up in the crossfire. Every two-bit villain who though his shit didn't stink was rolling into town to try and take it over. Pretty soon, Jump City had become the center of a power struggle between rival villains. Meanwhile, the residents of this city were trapped inside their homes, forced to watch as the world they knew sunk deeper and deeper into the quicksand."

"I can't imagine what that would have been like," Isabelle said, shocked to her core. "I mean, I grew up in Gotham, and they used to tell me things were bad there, but all I ever heard coming out of Jump city were horror stories."

"It was all one big horror story," Dick said, his eyes growing cold. "The people of this city cried out for a hero, someone who could deliver them from the darkness. In their hour of need, they turned to me. That's when 'The Crusade' began."

* * *

'The Crusade'. The one term that had been associated with Dick Grayson for the past ten years. The one thing that he would be forever known for in the annals of Titan City's history. Some would remember just the numbers, like sports fans who memorized the stats of their favorite teams and players. Those numbers would always come up when 'The Crusade' was the topic of discussion – whether by the loud-mouth idiots on _Larry King Live _or by a couple of old barbers in a shop downtown. Twelve years. 170 dead. 34 known supervillains. One man responsible for it all. That was the Crusade in semantics.

But it was the social impact of this one-man vigilante hunt that became the topic for many people - political, official, and civilian. The members of the Teen Titans and their extended family disowned Nightwing from their brotherhood. In fact, about a dozen of them had staged a protest five years back. Many of them were young superheroes, Argent and Pantha included as well as the Flash. In defiance of Nightwing's brutal methods, they disrobed themselves, exposed not only their bodies, but their identities to the world. They would have rather retired from being heroes than to be associated with _him_. The protest had no impact, though, and Nightwing continued to bring peace to Jump City using whatever methods he needed. Furthermore, the people of Jump City didn't once condemn his actions…they celebrated it. No one was concerned with the well-being of scum who terrorized the city. They had grown tired of wasting their tax money on stronger prisons and rehabilitation methods that ultimately amounted to bullshit. Now, Nightwing had made sure the only taxpayer money spent was on the fuel they used when they incinerated the bodies en masse.

Grayson smiled as he spoke of his most memorable kills. Jinx, Mammoth, and Gizmo had only been the beginning. His next had been Control Freak. He was just walking out of a convenience store, a fistful of money in both hands, when he had spotted Nightwing in the streets. He had said, "Hey, what's up, man?" To be honest, the look on his face after Nightwing had punched three holes in his chest with a .44 mag had been priceless. He never even saw it coming. The same could be said of Kid Wykkyd, who joined his cronies after a bank robbery. They had been in a van, hightailing it from the scene when the headlights caught the silhouette of Nightwing standing in the middle of the street. Wykkyd had suggested they simply run him down, just for the fun of it. The fun had run out as he watched Nightwing set a RPG-7 on his shoulder, and launched a rocket-propelled grenade right into the hood of their vehicle. The explosion cart wheeled the van up and over the Titan's head, coming to rest a block and a half down the road before erupting into flames. If Kid Wykkyd had lived long enough, he had certainly got a taste of what was waiting for him on the other side.

As the years passed, the names and faces became a blur. Mad Mod: shot down exiting a museum with a priceless artifact. Gorilla Modd: Sent down an elevator shaft just for shit and giggles. See-more, Private H.I.V.E., and Billy Numerous: Three bullets, three seconds, one .50 caliber sniper rifle, one hell of a mess. One night, Blackfire came calling, looking for her little sister and hell-bent on revenge. One ballistic knife shot later, she was looking at the ceiling and hell-bound for eternity. Adonis had gone when a bomb placed behind the full-length mirror in his apartment had detonated, showering him with pieces of mirrored glass. His vanity, like Narcissus, had ultimately proven fatal. As for the Brain…well, that had been a funny story. Grayson and Isabelle had a good laugh as he recalled pulling him from his device, plopping him into a blender and hitting the 'puree' button. "The world's smartest villain had just become the world's most nutritious smoothie!" Dick has said.

Even the next generation of villains was spared no mercy by the avenging Nightwing. He remembered when Captain Zeddemore, just a few weeks from retirement and six years past the bank incident had called him up to settle another hostage situation. This time, a couple of young villains had taken a busload of passengers and lined them up on their knees in front of the vehicle. The demand was simple: Free passage out of the city, or the people die. Nightwing had stepped out, donning a bulletproof vest and acting as a liaison between the police and the kidnappers. His solution had been just as simple: With his hands in the air, a pneumatic launcher tossed two Heckler and Koch sub-machine guns into his hands, and he mowed down the villains with a scythe sweeping motion. Total dead: twelve. Hostages lost: zero.

"You got a mean streak, boy," Zeddemore had said to him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm damn glad I got to work with you one more time. Keep up the good work."

He had. He even got himself a little bit of personal revenge. With some help from local authorities and governmental spy satellites, he had hunted down an old friend who had something that belonged to him. Directing Isabelle's eyes over to a case in the corner of his office, he showed off the infamous suit he had designed when he took the identity of Red-X. As for the identity of the man who had taken it, Grayson had never learned his name. It was all good, though. The tombstone marking his body didn't have a name on it, either.

The final act in 'The Crusade' concerned the fall of the H.I.V.E. – not just figuratively, but literally as well. The building was bombed from all sides as villains past and present held the line. Nightwing was hoping for some assistance from the big boys of that the Justice League, but he wasn't getting any responses. Looks like they weren't too happy with his choice, either. Fuck 'em, he had thought. The United States Armed Forces were doing a fine job.

As blood spilt on that final battleground, and the school collapsed on top of the remaining survivors, Nightwing's twelve-year battle against evil had finally come to a dramatic conclusion. The people of Jump City had taken to the streets, free from the darkness that had enveloped them for so long. The word sprang out all over the town: "Free at last, free at last, God Almighty we are free at last!"

* * *

Dick Grayson sat back, a contented smile on his face. Twelve years of his life had been spent saving the city from itself. It had been twelve years well spent.

"So, with the Crusade over, what was there left to do?" Isabelle asked.

"Rebuild," the man said, sighing. "I realized that, as Nightwing, I could do no more for the city. So, I did the next best thing: I stood up in front of the people in this city, and I removed my mask. I told them my name. And that night, I made a solemn promise never to let fear grip the heart of this city again."

The young secretary held a hand to her chest. "Bless you, Mr. Grayson," she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. "You truly are a saint."

Dick looked up at the ceiling, his eyes in a far-away place in time and space once again. "I guess that depends on whom you're talking to…" he said, quietly, as time took him back once again…


	5. Here Comes the Pain

It was a beautiful day. The kind of day that was just perfect for flying, as Beast Boy used to say. The breeze was calm, and the sun was not too overbearing. The peace and tranquility of the day made it that much harder on the crowd gathered in Titan City Cemetery to bear what was about to occur. This was the day that Luther Stone would be put into the ground.

While that name would not turn too many heads in Titan City, his alias would bring hundreds to tears. He was the former Teen Titan known to the world as Cyborg. His sudden passing had left the heroes of the Titan family searching for answers. What they uncovered had been rather unsettling: Cyborg's cybernetic components had been wearing down faster over the years, and his biological components had become intolerant of the new types of cybernetic technology he was attempting to upgrade himself with. Ultimately, the biological side of the Titan had rejected the new tech, and he died of a massive aneurysm in his sleep. Never once, however, did he reveal his condition. Never once had he sought advice or pity from his teammates. He had been a strong hero, right to the very end. Sadly, the man who had helped create him, Brother Blood, suffered a similar fate a few years prior when his own technology turned on him, so no answers remained for the surviving heroes. There was only sadness, and grief. Today, they would lay one of their own in the ground, and nothing in the world was going to change that. But little did that crowd know that this day would go down in history…or, more accurately, infamy…

* * *

"As Dick Grayson, the former vigilante hero known both as Robin and Nightwing, completes his first day as CEO of Wayne Enterprises' Titan City branch, many of the city's citizens have reflected on the strange road that Grayson took after his very public retirement. After winning over the people with his declaration of freedom and his push to allocate more funds for public housing, the former hero decided to show off his dangerous fighting skills during a short stint in the Las Vegas-based Ultimate Fighting Championship, or UFC. He would retire after a year and a half with 14 wins and no losses, and retired a champion there as well – The UFC Light Heavyweight Champion, to be exact. But all of these publicity stunts paled in comparison to the events that transpired nearly four years back at the funeral of Grayson's former Titan teammate Luther Stone, the birth name of the hero Cyborg. The news team of WJMP now takes a look back at the events of that fateful day. As a warning, the following footage may be too explicit for younger viewers, so parental discretion is advised…"

* * *

As Father O'Malley spoke out over the casket of the fallen Titan, his friends gathered silently in a circle around his grave. Cyborg had never really been one for religion, but he had left a stipulation that he be buried with Catholic honors. His father had been a highly religious man, and some of it had brushed off on the hero. He wasn't really sure where people went to went they died, but he at least hoped there would be a better tomorrow waiting just around the bend.

Titans from near and far had come to pay their last respects. Even those who had since retired, included Argent and Pantha, had made an appearance. Cyborg's lasting impression on all of the heroes made him someone worth praise and honor, but this resonated no more so than within the heart of Beast Boy. Cyborg had been the only man who really treated him as an equal. After Nightwing's departure, Starfire became reclusive, and Raven always seemed preoccupied with everything in her life except for him. Cy had been the beacon of hope, even during those dark days when all the news talked about was the ever-rising body count of 'The Crusade' and the names of villains cut down by the 'New Messiah' himself.

'New Messiah.' BB's face wrinkled in disgust at the sound of the name. He wasn't sure whether or not the hero had chosen the name himself or had it coined for him by a quick-witted writer for the newscasters, but he had grown sick of hearing about him. Thankfully, his retirement meant that his ugly mug wasn't plastered all over the newsprint. For all of the tragedy today, this was the moment that Cyborg would get his time in the spotlight. 'Front page, above the fold', the green Titan envisioned. 'Cy would've liked that.'

Suddenly, his ears perked up. The sound of a car pulling up on the gravel walkway had caught his attention. Slowly, he looked over his right shoulder – and spotted a jet black limousine coming to a stop. The sound of more tires came up the walkway, only these belonged to the local news.

'You've got to be fucking kidding me,' he thought, feeling his blood pressure rising. But it was true. The back door of the limo opened, and Dick Grayson emerged from the confines, a black dress jacket over his equally-black business suit. So much for being above the fold. Dick's arrival had just screwed that all up.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Beast Boy said out loud, loud enough for the other Titans to hear him. Stunned, they turned and looked at Grayson as he strolled through the field, a small group of private security following close behind. A murmur of disapproval ran through the crowd of heroes, but the citizens who had come to pay respects simply smiled in appreciation as their legendary hero arrived to say goodbye to an old friend.

Soon enough, the hustle and bustle of camera crews and reporters filled the field as Grayson whispered something into Father O'Malley's ear. Looking around, BB gritted his teeth. This solemn day of remembrance was slowly becoming a media circus.

Father O'Malley stepped down from his position. At this point, the service entailed a few words being spoken on behalf of the deceased by his friends. However, it seemed that Grayson had just bullied his way to the first spot. Always had to take the spotlight for himself, BB surmised. Prick couldn't even be civil on the day a teammate was to be buried.

As the reporters pushed in, dying to hear the words of the former Titan, the heroes who had gathered began pushing back, angry that they had desecrated this event for little more than a big PR stunt. As the calamity raged, Grayson stood in front of the casket, a few sheets of paper in his hand. Without a word, he raised his other hand into the air, making a fist as he did so. Within moments, the media hounds ceased their shoving match, and silence fell over the grounds. As much as the attending heroes despised Grayson, they couldn't help but feel in awe of his ability to control the public with a simple gesture.

Shuffling through the papers in his hands, Dick cleared his throat. He had prepared this speech specifically for this moment, and it was time for the truth to be told.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Titan City," he began, looking into the camera more often than into the faces of the heroes before him, "I have come here today, to these hallowed grounds, to say goodbye to a friend and a colleague. Though many of you may not have known Luther Stone the man, you definitely have known Cyborg the Titan. In all honesty, the two were one in the same. He never compromised who he was, even in the dark days that followed the disassembly of the Titans. Back when I was still with them, Cyborg and I were two of a kind. He was always the one who could make the tough decisions, and had no qualms about helping others do the same. All in all, he was a true fighter, a hero who fought for truth, justice, and, when all was said and done, the last slice of pizza."

The crowd burst out in laughter at the well-timed remark. Even Starfire and Raven had to chuckle at Grayson's timing. However, Beast Boy was unperturbed. His gaze was cold as ice as Dick shrugged his shoulders playfully. He didn't deserve to be up there. He hadn't been the one to watch Cyborg deal with his problems. He…he hadn't been the one to find him unresponsive on the floor of the Tower. He hadn't tried to resuscitate him, to save him from the dark abyss. This was a day of solemn respect. Now all of a sudden Hotshot Grayson makes an appearance, and everybody's all chuckles? 'Fuck him', BB thought, grinding his teeth in rage. 'Goddamn tool doesn't care about Cy at all. All he wants is fucking Brownie points from the people of this city.'

"In all seriousness, though," Grayson said, continuing on with his speech, "Luther Stone was a man who never changed his outlook on what justice was, and what it should be. He never once thought that darkness could grip the city with such strength as to choke it slowly out of resistance. He never thought things would ever get so bad that the Titans couldn't handle it."

BB's brow furrowed. There was something wrong with this, he just knew it. Grayson's tone was changing. He wasn't sure if the other heroes had noticed it, but the former Titan seemed to be setting up something.

"Looking back on all the years, and all that Cyborg has done for this city, I have to said, as God is my witness, that Luther…" Dick paused as he struggled to fight back the tears, "….that Luther Stone was, beyond the shadow of a doubt…the sorriest piece of shit it has ever been my displeasure to know."

The hammer had come down. The jaws of every hero in attendance hung open as Grayson dropped a bomb in their laps.

"That's right, I said it," the man said, an unpleasant smirk coming to his face. "Cyborg was a goddamn coward. Like I said, he never changed his ways. He always thought that the old ways would be enough. Never once did he think that maybe, just maybe, the old ways were dead and buried. He wanted to play nice! He acted as if the bad guys we faced would still treat us like we were little kids! He wasn't going to put his ass on the line for the people of this city, that's for damn sure! He would have rather sat up in his little fucking Tower, sipping hot toddies and watching Lifetime, while your children bled in the streets!"

A chorus of boos emanated from the group of heroes, but it was slowly being drowned out by the thunderous cheers from the citizens of Titan City as their hero spoke the truth.

"Cyborg could never bring himself to do what needed to be done," Grayson said, his voice like an evangelist among the true believers. "For that, he was weak, and his body was weak, and he deserved to die writhing on the floor like the goddamn parasite he was!"

Grayson came to a stop on his mad tirade. The heroes were utterly furious, hurling obscenities at him with abandon. Meanwhile, the people of Titan City were chanting his name. It was time for the big finale.

Raising his hands into the air, he grinned. "So, I now ask for you all to join me in prayer," he said, slowly. "Pray for the eternal soul of Luther Stone, for he shall burn in hottest pits in the deepest parts of Hell for all fucking eternity!"

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement, and Grayson quickly ducked a wide right delivered by Beast Boy. The hero had quite enough of the former Titan's mouth, and now he was looking to break it. However, the aging Titan could have sent that punch Western Union by the looks of it.

"You goddamn motherfucker!" BB shouted, as Grayson's security team sprung into action and restrained the man. "He was our friend! He was our friend! Don't you dare fucking talk about him like that! I swear, Grayson! I swear I'm gonna skull fuck your eyes out the back of your head!"

"I'd like to see you try!" Dick said, shoving the man back.

With the fistfight contained, the cameras moved in to try and get shots of the dueling Titans. But it seemed Grayson had already had his fill of publicity for the day.

"Get that fucking camera out of my face!" he shouted, grabbing the lens and breaking it off with ease. End feed.

* * *

"This final explosive encounter would be the last time the surviving members of the Teen Titans were seen in public. Despite the heckling from former heroes who disapproved of Grayson's methods during his 'Crusade', he was considered to be one of the most influential men ever to step foot into this fair city.

Despite the long list of villains Nightwing took down in his career, some would escape his devastating reach. Former criminal and magician Mumbo Jumbo would denounce his ways, moved to the Eastern Seaboard, and changed his name. For security purposes, we will not reveal his new identity, as the former criminal still fears retribution from the retired vigilante. In addition, Brother Blood, the headmaster of the H.I.V.E. academy, would also escape persecution only to die two years after 'the Crusade' ended from complications arising from his cybernetic components – a fate shared by his former protégé, Luther Stone. But, as the detractors of Nightwing's 'Crusade' have always been eager to point out, the sacrifice of life never led the vigilante to the man whom he had been gunning for. The man who had changed his life and quite possibly gave him the strength to attempt 'The Crusade' in the first place: The legendary mercenary turned crime boss Slade Wilson, also known as Deathstroke the Terminator. Despite all the resources Nightwing had in hand, he never located his nemesis. However, we here at WJMP News have learned from seized documents taken by police from Slade's former hideout in the old clock tower of Titan City that the mercenary had contracted melanoma during the years, and that it had metastasized to other vital organs in his body. The last snapshot of Slade, taken nearly ten years ago by government agents in Nairobi, Kenya, revealed that the former crime lord had been reduced to a living skeleton. It is the belief of this news crew, and those who have seen the evidence, that Nightwing's enemy would have ultimately died alone in the wilderness, thereby leaving the people of Titan City with the question of what might have been…"

* * *

"Turn that shit off, would you, Alfred?"

The flat screen LCD flickered off, leaving a tired old man silently staring back at his reflection. But this wasn't just any old man. This was the man who had brought justice to the streets of a crime-ridden city using only his skill and technological know-how. He was the man whom the tabloids had dubbed 'The Greatest Cult Icon of All Time', and he was, whether he liked it or not, the man who had just put Dick Grayson in power.

"You know, Master Bruce, the techno-wizards in your R&D department have indeed created a device for controlling electrical equipment such as this," the refined old butler spoke, directing his comments to a grizzled former billionaire playboy swirling around a glass of scotch in his hand. "I believe it is called a remote, and it happens to be sitting on your desk. You should give it a try one of these days."

Bruce Wayne smiled and shook his head. "I'll keep that in mind, Alfred," he said.

The two gentlemen were standing in the executive penthouse sitting on top of Wayne Enterprises' parent company. Outside, the cool night air of Gotham whistled around the building. A storm was brewing, and it looked as if it could strike at any moment. Inside, however, esteemed guest and friends of Mr. Wayne were mingling, enjoying a party set up by their own benefactor in celebration of the first major expansion on the business as well as the appointment of Wayne's former ward to the highest position in the company with the exception of his own. Strangely, the host of the party was further down the hall, sitting in his auxiliary office and getting drunk as a skunk. But, he wasn't alone.

"Well, I haven't seen you this down in the dumps since they fished the Joker out of the old cannery processor," a familiar voice reached Bruce's ears as Alfred left the room.

"You weren't the one that had to track down all those cans of premium psychopath in oil, Jim," The businessman said, turning to look at his old friend, Jim Gordon. Old was definitely the word that described the two men. Bruce was already fifty-seven, while the police commissioner was nearly pushing seventy. Still, these two men had seen more in their lifetimes combined that many people would ever see…or would want to.

"That I wasn't," Gordon said, laughing. "Still, your guests are out there celebrating, while you're in here sulking and drinking alone."

Now it was Bruce's turn to laugh. "What's there exactly to celebrate, Jim?" he said, shaking his head. "The fact that I just spent $4.6 billion dollars on the most technologically advanced building on the Western Seaboard, or that I just put a mass murderer in charge of it?"

"A mass murderer, though, whom the people of Titan City love," a female voice interjected itself into the conversation of the old men. Turning to look, the playboy found himself looking at another Commissioner Gordon – Acting Commissioner Barbara Gordon, to be precise. "Look at you two," she said, shaking her fiery red hair with a grin, "You're like a couple of old soldiers thinking back on the days of war."

"We _are_ a couple of old soldiers," Jim said, grinning back. "You are, too."

Barbara laughed. "I'm not that old," she said.

"Yet," Bruce said, playfully.

The woman gave the playboy a devious look, shaking her head yet again. "Well, if you decide to come out of your hole, you'll know where to find me," she said. "I'll be the one in the little black number with the chip on her shoulder."

"I'll keep my eyes open," Bruce said, holding his glass up. A moment later, the two old men were once again alone.

"You know, I still don't understand why you put Dick in the position you did," Gordon said, walking over to the window, his hands in the well-worn pockets of his tan trench coat. "I mean, he made a mockery of himself. He turned his back on his training, on his creed – on you. Why the hell did you give him so much influence in the company?"

"What the hell was I supposed to do, Jim?" Bruce said, joining his old friend in taking in the view of the city below. "The man's practically a god in Titan City. If I had appointed anyone else and passed him up, the entire city would be on its' way here to lynch me right now."

Gordon laughed. "Look on the bright side, Bruce: Since Grayson killed all the villains in Titan City, chances are they wouldn't have been able to hire someone to kill you if you had refused."

The two men had a hearty laugh about that. Still, the underlying morality of Gordon's words struck a chord with Bruce. He had never trained Grayson to fight as dirty and as deadly as his enemies. To do so was a mockery of his training and of his creed, the same creed that Wayne himself had set all those years ago: Never, under any circumstance, kill those whom you protected the city against, regardless of how vile they were. Doing so made you no better than they were.

"So, three weeks and counting, eh?" he said, opting to change the subject. Grayson had been on his mind all day, and it was time to set him free.

"What, you trying to push me out?" Gordon said, smirking. The two were now on the topic of the aging Commissioner's upcoming retirement. With Barbara set to replace him, Jim didn't have too much time left, but he wasn't about to let that slow him down. "Everybody's been telling me, 'You've done a good job. Now go relax.' Hmph, like I really saved Gotham City alone or something."

"Well, you were the one who had to stand out among the public and explain why six city blocks just went kablooey in the blink of an eye," the playboy said, smiling.

"So did you," Gordon said, skeptically.

"Yes, but nobody was thinking that I was partially responsible for it," Bruce retorted.

Sighing, the billionaire put an arm around his old friend. This man had covered his ass so many times and kept his secret for so long he was practically a member of the Wayne family. A good thing, too, since he had all but disowned the man he had considered a son.

"Look, Jim," he said, confidently. "Life isn't all about saving lives and protecting the people. If you don't give a little bit of that time to yourself, the only thing you'll have at the end is a wall of plaques and a heart of ice."

Gordon nodded his head, accepting his dear friend's view. "I know Bruce, and I'm thankful for every day I have on this planet. There's just one little snag about my career coming to an end."

The playboy was perplexed. "What's that?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face.

The commissioner gave him a weak smile. "I hate golf," he said, quietly.

The two men burst out in loud laughter. The era of these old men was slowly coming to a close, and they weren't exactly sure about where the next turn on the road of life would take them.

"Speaking of retiring," Gordon said, wiping his eyes, "when are you going to hang up the cape and belt and be a _former_ superhero-slash-businessman-slash-ultra rich bastard?"

Bruce sighed, and resumed looking out the window. "Well, I was hoping that one day Dick would take up the mantle for me, but he's got his own things now," he said, softly. "He retired in his prime. Such a waste. If he had just stayed on, and kept the creed, who knows what he could have done. As for Tim…well, some people are better off retired."

"What about you, Hotshot?" Gordon asked, slapping a hand onto Wayne's back.

Bruce turned his head, flashing the trademark smile that had reduced countless women to jelly. "Oh, I don't think I'm going anywhere," he said. "Nobody's gonna retire me."

* * *

Miles Winslow slowly rotated his neck, feeling the vertebrae cracking as he loosened up the tension in his body. Well, not exactly tension. More like…boredom. He and his new recruit had been stationed late to guard the private elevator to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. Sure, they were getting overtime, but the wait was just so tedious. Since the fall of the Joker, Gotham's crime rate had dropped sharply. Robberies and assaults were still rather high, but any metropolis was bound to have some sort of criminal element afoot. Well, maybe all metropolises not named Titan City. About twenty years back, when Miles was a snot-nosed little recruit himself, that town was still named Jump City. Appropriate name for it, especially during that time. The only way to escape the chaos was to leap from the roof of your building and become street pizza. Then Nightwing went apeshit on everyone from hardened supervillains to kids jaywalking across the street. Guess when a nutcase like that is hiding in your neighborhood it makes good sense to be nice. It was either that or be dead. And if there was anything Miles didn't want to be, it was to be dead. He was two weeks from retirement himself, and he frankly had gotten too old for this shit. All he wanted was to get his pension, his gold watch, his check, and a nice space on the back nine – not all necessarily in that order. Ah, a good looking girl to bring him drinks and sponge him down on a hot day wouldn't be a bad touch, either.

The security guard's golfing fantasy was broken by the sound of footsteps slowly making their way in his direction. Although the old man had decent eyesight for his age, he couldn't quite make out the face of the gentleman that was coming towards him. Not wanting to move from his comfortable position, he nudged the kid next to him with his elbow.

"Hey," he said. "Go ask that guy if he's got an invitation."

The rookie nodded, and swiftly made his way to the end of the short hallway, intercepting the unknown figure. He had good timing, and a courteous attitude, Miles observed. He should go far in this company - maybe even becoming Chief of Security like he was.

"Sir," the recruit told the gentlemen in an orderly manner, "this elevator is off-limits to those who have not been officially invited to Mr. Wayne's celebration. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to- !"

The guard stopped as a ceramic-handled tonto pierced the front of his chest, exiting out the back near the base of his head. The move was clean and precise. He had never seen it coming.

"Here's my invitation," the figure in front of him said, twisting the blade with incredible ease. Within a moment, the steel slide out as easily as it went in, and the rookie hit the floor without as much as a sound.

The elder guard, on the other hand, was listening to his heart pounding in his chest while his mind was racing. What the hell had just happened? Why did the kid fall down like that? Who the fuck was this guy?

The last thing Miles Winslow ever saw was a cold steel spike coming right for his eye.

* * *

Barbara Gordon looked up at the ceiling as the lights in the guest hall began flickering. Each bulb was flashing quickly in a random sequence, creating a strobe light effect that had spread out over the floor.

'Strange,' she thought. 'Wayne Enterprises is designed to stay in power even in the event of an emergency.'

Barbara had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. As a cop, she had learned to trust those instincts, and now was one of those times. Bruce and her father needed to know what was up – if they didn't know already.

* * *

As the elevator doors closed, the old feeling was coming back. Flexing his fingers and cracking his neck, he ran the checklist through his mind again. There was nothing out of place. Good. Being out of the game for so long, even he had begun to think that he might have lost his edge. If that demonstration of skill against the two security guards in the lobby was anything to go by, it was sort of like riding a bicycle. He had never forgotten. Taking a deep breath, his mind was set. The smoke bombs were in place. Activation in three, two, one…

* * *

Guests began panicking as smoke began pouring out of the air vents around the room. Between the flickering lights and the building smoke, the guest hall was beginning to resemble a crowded nightclub in Thailand. People bumped into one another as they tried to see the paths in front of them. Amidst the confusion and the panic, no one had heard the distinct DING of the elevator doors as they opened.

It was time.

* * *

Rata-tat-tat. Rata-tat-tat. The song of twin Heckler & Koch MP-5's rang out in the hall of Bruce Wayne's penthouse. It was music to his ears. This was a song that he hadn't heard in a long time. A lullaby from years past, come all the way to Gotham City.

Come to sing them all to sleep.

The guests were nothing more than frightened sheep, running in circles and screaming. Thankfully, the rain of lead had a way of bringing a calming silence to the hall. A young woman, screaming her head off one second, lying on the floor with it nearly blown off the next. Everything was coming back. The thrill, the pursuit, the instinct.

BLAM. Two more down. Child's play. Left gun goes CLICK. Out of ammo. One finger ejects the clip, other hand pops in a fresh one. Rata-tat-tat. Game on.

The guest hall is silent. Those who could escape to the other rooms had. Those who couldn't died. Simple semantics. Pure logic. Nothing more. The hallway stood bare, beckoning his call. Guns down, safety's on. Too tight for a gun fight. Hard to dodge bullets in such a contained space. Pistol's set, safety's off. Wasn't about to walk into no man's land with no protection. Look back at the hall. Elevator's locked. Guard's key floating in a leaking punch bowl. He didn't need it anymore. Then again, neither did the guard.

Focus ahead. Time to move.

* * *

Bruce came to a rest at the end of his pole. The last minute and a half had been a blur for the aging hero. First Barbara came into the room, saying something about a bad feeling in her gut. Then, smoke began pouring out of the vents. He had tried to contact the guard station, but there was no answer. If there had been a fire, the automated system would have sounded.

That's when the shooting started. He had told Jim and Barbara to stay hidden, and wait for him to return. The head on the bust of Bruce Wayne had gone up, and the concealed button pressed, revealing the secret area behind the bookcase. Old habits die hard.

Bruce took a quick inventory of everything. All of it was in working order. It may not have been as advanced or as technically sound as his usual, but the auxiliary Batsuit would do the trick.

The billionaire playboy grabbed the cowl, and stared for just a moment into its' eyeholes. Tonight, the Bat would fight again.

* * *

He could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. The nightshift must have found the men he had left. They would be upon him soon. Let them come. It was simply one step closer to their death.

As the heavily armored strike team emerged from the stairwell, they took in the sight of the intruder. Batons raised, they were prepared for anything. Anything but what was coming next.

His thumbs flicked up, releasing the twin katanas from their scabbards. Five against one. Acetate plastic against fire-tempered steel. It was truly an unfair fight.

The Kevlar plates of the strike team's bulky armor may have be strong against lead, but not against steel – especially when the steel was cutting around the plates. Spinning blades came from every direction, slicing through baton, armor, and flesh in a single stroke. Years of training and teaching cut down in ten seconds. Perhaps if they had trained in a more useful defensive style they would have still been alive. Not much that could be done about it now.

Others were waiting, just around the corner of the stairwell. At least one little man with a big gun. He could smell him. He could feel his fear. Walking by, the pistol drew from its' holster. That man would never get the chance to fire his big gun. The bullet had been right between the eyes. He didn't even need to see it to know how it sounded.

Three more were coming down the hall, guns drawn. It only took a second to take aim, and three more to end the charge. He was nearing the end of the hallway. His prize was in reach.

* * *

Barbara Gordon had stepped out into the hallway. The gunfire had settled in the hallway, and she could make out a figure making its' way towards the office. Whoever it was, it was clear that he or she was responsible for the attack on those guests and the strike team.

As the figure neared her position, the woman pulled a .38 from a holster strapped against her thigh. It was a backup weapon, but it was the only thing she had. Stepping from the shadows, she quickly took aim.

"You're out," she said.

* * *

He felt the pain ran through his right arm. Blood began oozing from the bullet wound in his shoulder as the dull noise of a small caliber weapon rang in his ears. Turning, he saw a woman in a black dress, a small metallic object in her hand. Her fiery red hair hung limp from her shoulders as she demanded to see his hands.

As one went up, the other trained the pistol.

"As you wish…"

* * *

Barbara took in a deep, gasping breath. She could feel the punch of the three rounds hitting her chest before the explosive sound reached her ears. As she collapsed to the granite floor, her last thought was that she should have listened to Bruce after all.

* * *

"BARBARA!" Jim Gordon cried out in horror as he watched his daughter fall from the gunshots that had embedded themselves deep within her chest. He had sought shelter under an oak table on the right side of the room, and had witnessed the final moments of Barbara's life in full view. The smoke was slowly clearing. Exhaust fans had been turned on by maintenance, probably per Bruce's order.

The old man cursed himself. Fifty-plus years in his career he had never been without a sidearm, and the night he needed that cold steel the most it was sitting in his bureau by his bed. A lot of fucking help it would do him there. Here he was, basically with the dick hanging out as a brutal psychopath headed his way. For the first time in his life, he was actually hoping he would make it to his retirement. He even felt like maybe playing a couple rounds of golf. Anything he needed to do to get out of this alive.

As the figure came into view, the aging commissioner had trouble believing what he was seeing. His eyes may not have been the best in the world at his age, but they were telling him something that seemed impossible.

The orange and black outfit fit like it always had. The physique was massive. The weapon belt couldn't have weighted less than twenty pounds, but he carried it like it was nothing. And the mask…that mask. There was nothing like it. No one else could have done what had been wrought that night except him. The legend.

"…It's unfathomable," Gordon said, his heart skipping a beat as he watched the dead rise before him. It was then, at the strangest of times, that he recalled a section of lyrics from a song Barbara had played back during her university days when he had went to see her. He had scolded her, he remembered, for listening to such harsh and brutal lyrics. In this new light, as his eyes glanced back down at his daughter's prone form, nothing in those words had been nearly as brutal as what he had seen on this night. They had all but faded from his mind, but there they were, burning with a new intensity:

_Bring it all on  
Come and take on what you fear  
I'm the storm  
That towers overhead  
Ticking time bomb  
With an infinite charge  
Bringer of torture  
The master is here  
Everyone falls…_

The truth was evident. The Terminator was back.

* * *

Slade Wilson felt good. Ten years back, he was on death's door. Now, he was back with a vengeance. Back behind the mask, he seemed nearly invincible. Just the way he liked things.

Scanning the room slowly, he was well aware of Jim Gordon cowering below the table. Needless to say he was probably overcome with grief over the death of his daughter. It was her own fault. Had she stayed put, had she not opened fire on him…well, not too much he could do about it now. Everyone makes mistakes. Some people pay a much bigger price.

Suddenly, a chair came whistling through the air. Looks like old man Gordon still had some fight left in him.

Gordon nearly toppled over as the chair struck Slade's forearm. The wood splintered, leaving the commissioner defenseless and lacking the element of surprise.

'It's unreal,' Jim thought to himself as he stumbled back on to the hard floor. 'He didn't even flinch! What the hell has happened to him?'

The merc looked down at Gordon, his good eye glaring at him through the mask.

"Don't go and have a coronary on me, Commissioner," he said, his emotionless tone just as haunting as well he had used it on the Titans. "Something tells me you won't be retiring as soon as you think."

"Fuck you!" the old man said. He may have been down, but he was not going without a fight.

"Save your strength, old man," Slade said, once again scanning the room. Nothing yet. "I'm not here for you."

"Then what do you want?" Gordon asked. Sadly, he feared he might already know the answer to that question.

The mercenary cocked his head to the side. The commissioner could feel his eye starting down at him. It felt as if he was looking deep into his soul for an answer.

"Where's Bruce Wayne?" he asked.

Third scan. This time, a significant change…

* * *

"Here I am."

Slade shifted his weight back on his heels, and narrowly dodged the leather-clad fist that was aimed for his chin. His opponent quickly recovered, and stood tall before the merc.

"You move pretty well for a dead man." Though the voice was Wayne's, the piercing eyes behind the cowl and cape said it all. The Batman had arrived.

"I was going to say the same about you," Slade said, shifting his left shoulder forward. He was ready for the Bat to throw everything he had at him.

"I'm not dead," Batman said. Despite the age, he still moved with the grace and skill he had nearly twenty, thirty years earlier. The only difference is that it took more out of him to keep up that pace. But Slade was older that him. Not quite as old as Jim, but damn near it. This shouldn't be a problem, he surmised.

"Yet." The single phrase was delivered by the merc with a slight tinge of confidence. It was as if he had seen the future, and already knew what was to come.

The two legendary fighters sized each other up for a moment. Each knew a great deal about one another, and neither was planning on giving an inch. This would be the last stand for one of them.

It was time.

* * *

Batman took the aggressive front, launching a side stepping kick towards the masked face of Slade. The merc ducked down with ease, and delivered a roundhouse sweep that caught the back of the hero's heel. As he fell to the side, the Bat posted with his arm and executed a back flip, putting him back on his feet. Slade came in hot, a wide right swing that glanced right off the tip of Batman's mask as he narrowly deflected it. Now in close, the Bat threw a couple of hard elbow shots. Slade, however, held his forearms like a Muay Thai fighter and blocked the shots. A wide right by the hero was finally answered by a right hook that sent Batman sprawling onto the ground.

Bruce shook off the cobwebs inside his head. How was this possible? Slade didn't seem to be weakened by the man's powerful blows. He was known far and wide for leveling even the toughest opponents with a single solid shot. The mercenary not only shrugged off his blows, but he seemed faster, and stronger. Wayne's physical conditioning was amazing for a man his age, but Slade had been considered dead for years. He had practically been a living stick figure when they last had Intel on him. There was no logical way he could have recovered to that extent. But Slade Wilson had not just recovered – he had excelled.

Batman dragged himself to his feet, and launched another assault. This time, he planned to pull out all the stops. But that idea fell flat when Slade parried a left cross and caught him with an uppercut that sent tremors down his spine. He was playing with Bruce. No matter what move he made, the merc knew exactly where to stand to be just out of range and exactly where to punch to make the biggest impact on his opponent's body. The aging hero realized, horrified, that Slade must have been planning this for quite a long time if he knew how to outmaneuver and outfight him. He was getting sloppier by the second, and his opponent continued to wail on him with punches that seemed to bear superhuman strength. Finally, with one massive sweeping kick, the merc caught the Bat right in the back of the head. On the button.

Pain exploded through Bruce's head as he took a knee, trying to find his bearings. His nose leaked crimson, and his organs felt like they had been through a meat grinder. Slade had broken the Bat.

'No, it's just not possible,' the hero thought, his scrambled mind searching for answers.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed up Batman by his cape. Bruce Wayne, the hero of Gotham City - both as entrepreneur and caped crusader – found himself being flung through the air and across his office. The massive impact of his body against the glass window shattered it into a rain of shrapnel for those passing in the streets below. Try as he might, this was one Bat who couldn't fly. It was over…

His hand gripped hard, the leather of his glove being shredded as the hero clung to the broken frame of the window. Glass shards pierced his palm, and blood ran down the side of the building, but he hung on. Too tired to heft himself up back inside, he simply clutched to his lifeline. He could remember days that had been much better than this. Then again, there were days that ended pretty much the same way as this one had. Such was the life of the Batman.

* * *

Gordon simply sat in stunned silence as Slade made his way over to the window. Once again, musical lyrics floated through the poor man's mind. Same day, same song, same doting daughter – the same one whose blood was slowly leaking out onto the floor in front of him. All this was simply too much for his mind to bear. Something inside of his brain simply…snapped.

As frenzied laughter poured from his wrinkled lips, his well-gone mind ran those lyrics in repetition:

_Here comes the pain  
You're no different from the rest  
Victim is your name in my vicious wasteland  
Here comes the pain  
Your destruction manifests  
Lying there broken looking up as I still stand_

* * *

Bruce was aware of the merc's presence as he hovered over him. The cat and mouse game had gone on long enough. It was time to give Slade a taste of the good stuff…

That was when he heard the CLICK.

Looking up, he found himself looking down a tunnel of darkness. It was much like the first time he had encountered the caves beneath Wayne Manor as a child. The day he faced his fear and found the symbol he would use to strike back at the evil in Gotham. But this one was different. As he looked deeper, he could only see a dead end. An end that would change the world as it was. Bitterly chuckling, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, had found out he was going to retire after all.

As Slade pulled the trigger, he felt only one thing. The only thing a mercenary could ever truly feel.

Recoil.


	6. One Thing

She opened her eyes. The sunlight leaking through the window hadn't been enough to bother her as of yet, but she had grown accustomed to walking early in the day. In her life, living each day as it was her last was more pertinent now than ever. She had always known that life was precious, especially with the life she had lead, but it had taken those fateful words a year and a half ago for her to realize the gravity of what life truly meant.

Sitting up slowly, she took a deep breath, letting the air permeate her lungs. Any day you could get up and move is a good day, she surmised. No pain as of yet. Organs didn't feel like Lars Ulrich's drums after a show. Not a bad way to start the day.

Reaching over, she pulled a small bag from the nightstand. No need to run the risk of things getting worse, she thought. The paper crinkled as she rolled it into a thin tube. Still a little sloppy, but she was getting the hang of it. Pretty good for someone who had no experience in rolling.

The flint of the lighter crackled as she lit it up. Tossing back her dark hair, she drew the smoke deep down into herself. She fought back the urge to cough up the offending aerosol. Her lungs could deal with it. For the past year and a half, her lungs had been the least of her worries.

As she exhales, she could begin to feel the stimulant take effect. She smiled. Looks like today would be, as Dr. Dre would say, just another day.

* * *

The fourth floor of Titan City Medical was hustling and bustling again. If there was any work that could be considered more important than saving lives in the eyes of management, it was the paperwork that accompanied it. And Rebecca Harris was simply flooded with it. As the nurse stationed at the front desk, she was responsible for keeping all the files of patients past and present in line. Hell, she would probably have to organize future clients if she had known of them as well. Her other responsibility was to greet visitors and other hospital personnel in her free time, of which she had very little of. So it was simply routine as another person made a stop at the desk, inquiring about a patient in the local ward. Someone named Rachel Roth, apparently. A sigh let loose from the nurse's lips as she escorted the man to Room Number 413. Simply routine.

* * *

"Hey, you in the mood to see a friendly face?"

That voice resonated deep with in Rachel Roth. She had known that voice for many years. Whether it had been serious or goofy as it often was, she could recognize it in a heartbeat as the one that always seemed to be after her, all the way back during her early years when she had gone by only a single name: Raven. Turning her head towards the doorway, she smirked at the sight before her. "Yeah, but I guess I'll have to settle for yours," she said, jokingly.

Beast Boy smiled back at her. Rather, Garfield Logan did. He had retired his name not too long after Cyborg's passing. Without him, there didn't seem to be a reason to keep the persona any longer. That and just about every punk who thought he could get away with murder were making career plans that included steering well clear of Titan City. The years had not been too kind to the former Titan, as a pair of bifocals sat upon his face and his hair had all but disappeared from the top of his head. Still, his face had changed little from his hero days, with the possible addition of a few extra laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Raven, in comparison, looked as if she had walked straight from his memories – with the exception of her hair. Over the years, it had grown even longer.

Logan hid a smile as he recalled seeing Raven again for the first time since Cyborg's funeral. It had been nearly two and a half years ago. He had just happened to meet her at the local mall while she was looking for hair dye. When she had hung her hair in front of her face in order to compare the colors, she had been a carbon copy of Cousin It from the Addams Family. Of course, a lot had changed since then. Since that night she arrived on his doorstep with a surprise that had been most unexpected…

"You look like the world just collapsed around you," Raven's voice broke the man's train of thought, but he was rather glad for it. What had been on his mind was not exactly the most pleasant thing in the world.

"Yeah, well, business is tight," Logan said, shaking his head. "I never thought that a vegetarian deli would be such a hassle. I mean, with all the expenses and the advertising and the traditional bullshit of small business I'm practically a nervous wreck. I'm telling ya, if it wasn't for Kate, I'd have a hole dug for myself halfway down to China."

The woman took another deep breath from the cigarette in her hand. "So, it's been almost three years, hasn't it?" she asked, a weak smile on her face. "I swear, I'll never know exactly what she saw in you."

"Hey, I might not be a looker, but I have my own special methods of persuasion," the man said, grinning. "Truth be told, she thought I was really funny."

"Yeah, after how many drinks?" Raven said, sneering.

"Only two," Logan said sarcastically, sneering back.

The two retired heroes sat in silence for a moment. The level of bickering that had occurred between them disguised the fact that the two rather enjoyed each other's company.

"Hey, you know I actually managed to get your name right this time around?" Logan said, a look of relief on his face. "Kinda glad there's always been a different person here each time I came to visit you. Otherwise, things could have gotten embarrassing."

"Hmm, and it only took you three times to get it," the woman said, still playfully teasing.

"Hey, I never said I was a rocket scientist," the man said, smiled. Then, his face became concerned. "So, how you been, kid?"

Raven shook her head, her eyes disappearing behind her now purple-and-black hair. "Okay as of the moment," she began, softly. "Changes from day to day. Sometimes I feel like I should be out there again, smacking around the bad guys. Other days I'm puking up my guts, wondering if I'm gonna live to see the next sunrise. It's kinda like a roller coaster from Hell, and I can't get my seatbelt off."

Garfield sighed, looking down at the floor. "You look a lot better than when I saw you last," he said, solemnly. "Guess that new stuff they got you on is actually working."

The woman got up from her bed, and walked over to the window. Her legs felt a little wobbly. She had been bed-ridden for the last few days, so her body wasn't exactly ready to be vertical again. Quickly realizing the mistake, she took a seat in the chair over in the corner of the room. "That's debatable," she said.

"Not from where I'm standing…"Logan paused. Sniffing the air for a few moments, a puzzled look came over his face. "What the hell is that smell?" he asked. "It smells like…weed." A look of shock came over his face as he turned back toward Raven sitting in her corner. "Are you getting high?" he asked, his jaw dropped.

The woman gave him a smile. "Relax, it's medicinal," she said matter-of-factly. "I have the prescription if you wanna see it."

"No, no, no…it's cool." Logan's words were rather hard. Raven was about to give him an earful when she remembered that Garfield was not one for drugs, especially since…

"Hey, you guys still decent in here?" a female voice interjected into the room.

The two turned their attention back to the door as Kate Logan stepped in. Her short-cropped brown hair, green eyes, and tanned skin were a stark contrast to Raven's grayish tone and multi-hued hair. Still, this was the woman that the former Titan had fell in love with not long after he retired and secured the funds to open his deli. She had stopped in for a quick bite, and ended up staying a lot longer than she ever expected. Not that she had any complaints about it.

"Well, as decent as we'll ever be," Logan said, smirking.

Suddenly, the woman took in the scent permeating around the room. "Somebody smoking a joint?" she asked, puzzled.

Raven let out a small laugh. Two for two. "Haven't you heard the news, Kate?" she said, smiling. "It's legal to smoke marijuana." She paused as she took another hit off of the roll, and gave an even bigger smile. "Of course," she continued, exhaling the smoke from her lungs, "you have to have cancer."

With that, she set into a fit of giggles. Despite the laughter that poured from her lips, her eyes began tearing up. Both Garfield and Kate stood in silence as Raven's laughter broke down into heart-wrenching sobs. Acting quickly, the former Titan walked over and embraced his friend tightly in his arms.

"I'm…gonna go get some coffee," Kate said, jutting a thumb in the direction of the lobby.

Logan nodded slightly. Within a moment, the two Titans were alone.

"Oh God, Garfield," Raven cried, her body shaking with tremendous force. "I know that I put up such a strong front. You know that more than anybody else alive. But it's all bullshit." She took in a ragged breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Gar, I'm so scared," she said, her voice cracking. "I might have always been one of those people who was 'doom and gloom', but I was young then. I had my entire life to figure out what the world was really about. Now I'm still not sure. Jesus Christ, I don't wanna die…"

Logan sat in silence, slowly rocking the grief-stricken woman in his arms. He remembered that night a year and a half ago when Raven had shown up at his home. Kate had let her in. It was nearly dinnertime, but the woman had seemed so anxious to talk to him that he took a seat on the couch with her to discuss the matter. The next thing he knew Raven's head was lying in his lap, her voice screaming in agony. He had never seen her so…helpless. She cried more than night that she had in the twenty-plus years he had known her. Turned out she had gone in for a biopsy after she discovered a strange growth in her right breast. The tests had come back to her that day: the tumor was malignant. Raven had developed breast cancer, and the realization of it had caused her to fall apart right there in his home. Since then, she had suffered a couple of episodes like this. Each time, it was his arms that held her close until she regained her composure.

He felt the tremors in her body slowly winding down. This episode was coming to a close. Now was the time to speak.

"Look, Rae," he whispered softly into her ear, "I'm not gonna pretend that everything's gonna be alright, okay? We've both been around this world a couple times, and filling you up with bullshit like that isn't gonna help anything. But if there's anyone I know who has the strength to lick this thing, it's you."

The woman looked up at him, hand wiping tears from her eyes and face as she did so. "You…really think so?" she asked, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

"I know so," Garfield said, smiling. Standing back up, he helped Raven back over to her bed. As she sat down on the edge, she let out a sigh.

"I guess the one good thing about the drugs I'm on is that at least I get to keep my hair," she said, tugging on it for dramatic effect. "I don't have to spend my days looking like a reject from _The Pirates of the Caribbean_."

The man smiled. "To be honest," he said, sheepishly, "I like how long you've grown it."

"I don't," Raven said, disgusted. "This thing's just a royal pain in the ass. I try to sleep, it itches my back; I roll over, and it tickles my belly. The only reason I haven't gotten the thing cropped is the hospital says that I'm still too sporadic to leave, and they won't bring a guy in to do it."

Leaning back, she took another hit from what little of the joint still remained. "At least I know when I die I can have an open casket," she said, sadly. "I'll look half-way decent and not like some damn skinhead."

"Raven, don't talk about yourself like that," Logan said firmly. "Hell, as far as I'm concerned, you're gonna outlive us all."

The woman raised an eyebrow at that remark. "How do you figure that?" she asked.

The man laughed. "Come on, look at yourself," he began. "You look like you walked right out of a picture on my fireplace. Me – I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy. As for health-wise, I'm striking out there, too. First, I had to get these glasses because I couldn't walk more than three feet without stumbling over shit – and it wasn't because I'm a clumsy ass. Next, I started wrinkling up like an old plum left out in the sun, and now my hairline is engaged in an unsanctioned race to get to the back of my head." He paused, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "I go see the doctor, and he tells me that I have hypertension, high blood pressure AND high cholesterol, okay? So much for spending my life eating tofu - I could have been sucking down cans of Cheez-Wiz for the past ten years and been in better shape. Speaking of shape, you might have noticed that I'm starting to carry out a spare tire right below my chest – just in case Kate and I have a blowout on the highway some day. And the best part – at my last physical, my doctor told me that the next time I come in, he wants to give me the 'middle-aged special'. You know, the one where I drop my pants, he puts on a glove, lubes it up real good, and he shoves his hand up my ass and uses me as a puppet!" Garfield punctuated the final remark of his tirade by holding his right hand up like a sock puppet and opening and closing its 'jaws'.

Raven looked at him, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she let out a snort, and burst into another fit of laughter. Seeing a smile on his friend's face meant more to Logan that she could ever know.

"I knew I could get you to laugh," he said, triumphantly.

"Don't take too much stake in this, Gar," the woman said, still giggling. "This is the weed talking."

"Hey, if it takes you being stoked to get a couple chuckles out of you, I'll live with it," the man said, grinning.

Raven took a deep breath as her laughter died away. She knew that what she was about to say could very well suck the life right out of the room. "Have you talked with Starfire recently?" she asked.

Logan's face hardened. His brow furrowed as he heard his teammate's name. "No," he said, coldly. "We haven't spoken at all since that day…"

* * *

That day had been a beautiful one. Logan had just closed up shop for the weekend and was on his way across town. While he had a nice home with a doting wife waiting for him in the suburbs, he was currently heading in the complete opposite direction. Home could wait for now. Now, he was heading down to the apartment that Nightwing and Starfire had used to share. Though the former Titan had moved on quickly after the bank incident, Star had never left. Guess she had too many memories in that place to just let it go, especially after her relationship with NW had ended that way, so abruptly and with too many questions that had no answers.

Garfield lowered the top of his '88 Town Car. The wind whistling through his hair (what was left of it) felt good. The temperature was just right – not overbearingly hot, but not too cool to induce chills. It had been some time since he had seen Starfire last. In fact, the last time they had a face-to-face it had been at Cyborg's funeral. That was about two and a half years ago, but the memory of Grayson's final speech still boiled his blood every time he thought of it. Still, Starfire had been a trooper. True, she had hit a rough patch right after her split with Grayson, and found herself introduced to a side of humanity that was less than savory, but she had recovered. The fact that she had called him the day before had piqued his attention, as she had been rather reclusive over the years. 'Can't blame her,' he thought to himself. 'She loved Grayson, and he just dropped her like a sack of bricks. Poor girl didn't deserve that kind of treatment.'

Pulling up to the side of the road in front of the two-story buildings, Logan parked the car and got out. Star's apartment was on the second floor, right side. As he headed up the stairs, he wondered what had motivated the woman to call him. Within a few moments, he stood before her door. Quickly, he rapped upon it.

"Star? Open up! It's Beast Bo…" he stopped himself. Force of habit. Going by that name for many years had made it difficult for him to simply drop it from his life. "It's Garfield!" he said, correcting himself.

No answer. No sound of footsteps walking towards the door. Maybe she was sleeping. Logan knocked again.

"Come on, Star! Open up!" he said, a little louder this time. Still nothing.

"Hey, quit playing with yourself in there!" he said, playfully. Silence. Now something was up.

"Man, what the hell is going -!" the man paused. He had reached for the doorknob to Star's apartment, and had found it twisted open in his hand. Not a good sign.

"Star?" he said, poking his head into the living room. To his surprise, all the lights here off, and the curtains had been drawn. The room was almost too dark to see anything in. "Hey, you here? If you are, you left your door unlocked."

An uncomfortable silence had settled over the apartment. Still, Logan's instincts told him something was wrong. Stepping inside, he closed the door.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he felt on edge. The apartment was a cluttered mess. Dishes sat in the sink, day-old food caked onto them. Clothes and belongings were scattered across the floor. If it wasn't for the layer of dust that covered much of the furniture in the house, he could have safely assumed a burglary had taken place.

"Star, answer me, will ya?" he said, fear slowly working its' way up his spine as he walked down the hall towards the bedroom. As he approached the door, he stopped cold. In the darkness of the room, he swore he could see two bare feet sticking out from behind one side of the bed. Definitely not a good sign.

Throwing caution to the wind, Logan charged into the room. As he rounded the bed, he gasped – Starfire was laid out, face down on the floor of the room! Quickly, he kneeled down by her side, and shook her shoulder.

"Star?! Star, speak to me!" he yelled, fear echoing in his voice. He had found one Titan dead in his life. He was not ready for another one.

"…Hmmm! Ummm!" The Tamaranean mumbled as she opened her eyes. Garfield slowly rolled her over onto her back. The sight of her was not a pleasant one. Her eyes were red, like she had been crying a lot recently and her hair was matted. Her body was clothed in simply a tank top and panties and, though he couldn't bring himself to say it, she smelled as if she hadn't bathed in days.

"Star, why are you sleeping on the floor?" the man said, jokingly. "You do know that beds are a lot more comfortable, right?"

"…G-Garfield?" the woman said, slowly. She still seemed groggy from being woken up in such a manner. "W-What are you doing here?"

Now Logan was perplexed. "You called me last night, Star," he said, explaining the situation. "Don't you remember? You sounded pretty out of it. What's going on here…?"

The man's voice trailed off as he found himself looking eye-level with the top of the bed. Much of the space had been taken up by dirty laundry and other things, but something sat out on the bedspread that caught his eye, just as plain as day.

A syringe.

A slow rage began building in the pit of Logan's stomach. Starfire seemed to know what he had been looking at, and her face melted into one of fear. Suddenly, she felt the man's hands grip her wrists with inhuman force.

"Garfield, please," she moaned. "Don't…"

As Logan turned her arms over, palms up, it all became clear to him. There was no hiding the evidence from his eyes. Track marks peppered the surface of the woman's forearms. So much for the recovery.

Starfire shrank down as Logan gritting his teeth. The truth was out, and her friend was not at all happy about it.

"You…bitch!" His voice was as sharp as a dagger as he stood up in a huff. "I can't believe you…Are you fucking using again?"

"Please, Garfield, listen…" the woman said, reaching upwards. Try as she might, her body refused to ascend to a sitting position. Whatever had been in the last dose had been a strong one.

"NO!" Logan said, his fury boiling over. "I can't believe you'd do this again! You told me you were clean! You said you would never relapse!"

"It's…It's not what it looks…" Star muttered, still trying to move.

"Then what the fuck is it, huh?!" the man asked, anger overflowing in his voice. "Am I just imagining that needle there?! What the fuck are you taking, huh?! Coke?! Crack?! Meth?!"

"Please…don't do this…" the Tamaranean said, tears coming to her eyes. "I…was just…thinking about the old days…it just happened…I swear, I'm not hooked again…honest, you have to believe me…"

"Not hooked, huh?" Logan said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Look at you! You can't even get to your goddamn feet! And as for you 'thinking about the old days', that's a crock of shit!" He paused, his mind giving him the perfect ammunition for his battle. "You know what happened to me a week ago? I had Raven come to my house. Now, she hasn't given me the time of day in twenty-something years and all of a sudden she needs to talk to me. No sooner than I sat her down on the couch she started bawling her eyes out like a baby. She's got fucking breast cancer, Star! She's dying! Granted, she still looks beautiful on the outside, but on the inside she's rotting away!"

The man paced the floor for a few moments, his hands shaking with rage. He wanted to choke her, to beat her, to make her suffer for the choice she made.

"Raven didn't get a choice in the matter!" he said, starting back up once again. "She's faced with impending death, and carrying herself like a goddamn saint, while you're here getting shitfaced! Look, if you wanna die like Raven, just keep doing what you're doing – you'll get there soon enough! But she didn't make the choice, Star! She didn't choose to have cancer! If you wanna die so fucking bad, I'll got get a gun from the pawn shop, load it up with a couple hallowpoints and pump them straight into your head! You want that, huh?! You fucking want that?!"

By now, tears were streaming freely down Starfire's dirt-stained face. "I…I couldn't help it," she cried. "I just kept thinking…about that day at the bank…about Nightwing…about what he did…"

"So, you were thinking about Mr. Hotshot Murderface, weren't ya?!" Logan hollered. Bringing Grayson into the equation did little to vent his anger. "Well that's no goddamn excuse! He fucked us all, Star, okay?! He fucked us all! The only difference between you and the rest of us was that he _fucked_ you before he fucked you over! That's no excuse! You gotta get up and live! Use it to keep you going!"

Garfield's tank was running on empty. Seeing Starfire in her current condition sent a wave of nausea through his being.

"I'm done," he said, quietly, his rage subsiding. "I'm done, Star. Either you get up and fight, or you lay there and die, 'cause now you're on your own."

"Garfield…please…wait!" The woman's cries left on deaf ears as her former friend walked down the hallway. "Please…DON'T LEAVE ME!!"

The door slammed shut.

* * *

"So, you just left her there?" Raven asked, a stunned look on her face. She could not have imagined the former Titan turning his back on anybody, let alone Starfire.

"It was all I could do," Logan said, sternly. "She was gonna have to learn how to solve her own problems."

"I understand that, but why did you do it that way?" the woman asked, still pecking for an answer. "You left her in her hour of need. I mean, how do you know she's not lying dead in a storm drain somewhere in the city right now?"

The man looked over at her, his lips pursed together. "I still keep tabs on her," he said. "Called in some old favors."

"And?" Raven asked, still searching for some sort of closure.

"She's still alive, if that means anything," Logan said, sadly. His face seemed to show a man who knew he had made an error in judgment, but knew no other way to fix the problem.

Suddenly, the two heard footsteps running up to the doorway. They watched as Kate appeared, a look of shock on her face.

"Oh my God," she said, breathlessly. "Did you guys hear? Bruce Wayne is Batman!"

The two Titans looked at one another for a moment. To the woman's surprise, they burst out in loud laughter. Raven practically fell off the bed as she doubled over, drawing her knees up to her chest as she held her sides. Logan, meanwhile, was bent over and using the edge of the bed for support. After about ten seconds, they regained composure.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Kate," he said, grinning. "But we're Titans. We've been privy to that knowledge for quite some time now. So, Mrs. Sixty Minutes, can you tell us something we don't know?"

The woman frowned. "He's dead," she said, matter-of-factly.

The smiles disappeared from both their faces. That was something they didn't know.

"What?" Garfield asked, stunned.

"You're kidding?" Raven said, shaking her head.

"No, it was just on the news!" Kate said, sadly.

"Damn, now I was certain that guy was gonna outlive us all," Garfield said, running a hand over the top of his head. "He was always in good shape. Hell, he was still fighting crime in Gotham. Please, just tell me he didn't die on the toilet or something."

His wife shook her head. "News says they found him on the sidewalk. Apparently he took a swan dive from his executive penthouse about thirty stories up. The kicker was he was dressed in the Batman outfit," she explained.

"Are you saying it was suicide?" Raven asked, stunned. She had known Bruce Wayne was a man with a troubled past, but he was a multi-billionaire and lived for the night. Taking such a way out just didn't seem like something he would do.

"Doubtful," the woman said. "News also reported that a lone gunman infiltrated Wayne Enterprises. Killed two guards on the main floor, and about fifteen guests in the penthouse. Then he took out nine members of Wayne's elite riot team. He even killed Commissioner Gordon!"

"You serious?" Logan said. His mind flashed to that old man. Hell, he didn't deserve that. Not just a few weeks from retirement…

"Yeah, Acting Commissioner Barbara Gordon," Kate said. "Took three shots to the chest. As far as the police are concerned, the same man killed Wayne. They found a gunshot wound to his right eye. Probably the kill shot. They think he was likely dead already when he went out the window."

The two former Titans sat in silence. All those dead, and all the work of one man? It just didn't seem possible. Batman alone could have taken out five thugs, even at his age. There was no one now who could have that kind of prowess and strength…at least, they weren't sure.

"Do they have any idea who did it?" Raven asked, tossing her hair back.

"Well, that's the funny thing," the woman said. "Police and witnesses aren't saying a word, but Jim Gordon says he saw it all. Of course, he's still suffering from shell shock, so it's hard to gauge whether he's being rational or not. I mean, he watched his daughter and one of his closest friends die right in front of him. Who knows how that can warp your mind."

"So, don't keep us in suspense," Logan said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who's the culprit?"

"Well, like I said, because of Gordon's mental state, you should probably take this with a grain of salt, but he swears up and down that Slade Wilson killed them," she said.

Slade. The name sent a tremor of fear through both former Titans. Ever since Grayson had begun his 'Crusade', Slade had been associated with him from the get-go. But that the merc was linked to the deaths didn't seem too likely. Slade Wilson was on death's door ten years back. He should be dead and forgotten in some nameless grave down in Africa, not splitting wigs up in Gotham City.

"Slade? I highly doubt that," Raven said, shaking her head.

"Why do you say that?" Kate asked, confused.

"Because Slade had…" Garfield stopped. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not with his friend sitting next to him. It just wasn't right to constantly remind her of her situation in his opinion. "…Slade was in really bad shape by the time Nightwing retired."

Raven smiled. Garfield was trying, but she was a big girl. She could handle it. "It's okay, Gar," she said to him. "I can deal with it." Turning her attention back to Kate, she continued. "Slade had melanoma. It had spread throughout his body by the time Grayson ended 'The Crusade'. Without any kind of medical assistance, he would have been dead within a year. The chances of him still being alive, let alone having the strength to kill almost thirty people, is astronomical."

"I agree," Logan said, thoughtfully. "Chances are we're dealing with a copycat situation. I mean, not many people know what Slade looks like without the mask. For all intensive purposes, Slade _is_ the mask, and the outfit. Anyone could put it on and assume his identity. It would be simple."

Kate walked out to Logan, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I sure hope you're right," she said, a weak smile in her face. "Well, we oughta get going. Jessica's probably wondering where in the world we are." Looking at Raven, she nodded. "It's good seeing you, Rachel," she added. "You know, if you want, I could ask the hospital chaplain to come to your room. He could help you free yourself from all of your life's transgressions through the word of God."

The woman smiled, sadly. "Thanks, Kate," she said, slowly shaking her head, "but my transgressions are all I have left."

The other woman smiled, and nodded. She understood. "Offer's always open," she said.

As Kate walked out the door, Raven looked at Garfield, a perplexed look on her face. "Who's Jessica?" she asked.

"Oh, she's the curator of the local rummage sale we have up at the church every week," he said. "Kate and I promised to give her a helping hand getting set up."

Now the woman was really perplexed. "Church?" she asked, a playful grin on her face. "I always thought you were an agnostic."

Garfield looked at her, and sighed. Glancing back out the door as his wife, he shrugged his shoulders, a weak smile on his face. "Well, you gotta change for the ones you love," he said, sheepishly.

As he turned to depart, something about his words stirred something inside of Raven. She had never thought of bringing up the topic in recent years, but for some reason now seemed a good enough time as any.

"One last thing, Gar," she said, her voice practically a whisper.

"Yeah, Rae?" Logan said, turning his head back.

The woman swallowed hard, and her bottom lip quivered very so slightly. "Do you think…we coulda had something?" she asked, quietly.

The man gave a rather sad smile. "I know we could have," he said, just as quietly. "I was always ready. I was just waiting for you." He nodded, slowly. "I'll see you soon."

As Logan walked out the door, Raven found herself left with only her thoughts, thoughts about what might have been…

* * *

The morning sun was in full form as the black limousine pulled in front of Titan City Medical Center. As it came to a stop the door opened, and a pair of well-polished Gucci loafers hit the pavement. It was time for the first act in his new regime…well, first unofficial act, that is.

He smiled as he made his way towards the entrance. A little girl in Room 413 was about to have a very rude awakening.

* * *

"Man, I can't believe you said what you did when you came into Rae's room," Logan said to his wife as he shook his head. "What, you don't trust me or something?"

Kate laughed. "Of course I do," she said, smiling. "It's just that, despite what she's going through, she's still quite a looker. I'm not surprised you had a crush on her back in the day."

"That I did," the man said. Then he sighed. "But that ship set sail a long time ago. She just never opened her eyes to life until she found out that fate was gonna take it all away from her. Now it's just too little, too late."

Suddenly, he came to a dead stop. His eyes squinted. Just might be his mind playing tricks on him. He blinked a few more times, and let everything come back into focus. No, his mind and eyes weren't lying. He could recognize that suit anywhere. The long black hair, the smell of $400 cologne, the air of an ingenious bastard. No mistaking it. It was him.

"Grayson," Logan said, spitting the word out of his mouth like month-old-tofu. "What the hell's he doing here?"

"I don't know," Kate said, concerned. "Looks official."

"Official my ass," the man said, hate spewing from every word. "Nothing's official about that man. He's a goddamn tool, that's what he is!"

"Garfield, please," his wife said, placing a hand on his chest. "Just remember: 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone'."

"No problem," Logan said, grimacing. "I'd like to throw a goddamn mountain at that giant forehead of his." With that, he started walking towards Grayson and his security team.

"Gar, not here!" Kate said, trying to keep up with his pace.

"Hey, relax, Kate," he said, looking at her with a grim smile. "I'll be subtle. I'm good at subtle."

* * *

Grayson had just finished signing into the log when he heard a voice call out from behind him.

"Hey, Grayson!" it said.

Turning towards the shout, the businessman found himself staring at Garfield Logan. The woman next to him must have been his wife. 'Not bad looking,' he commented to himself. 'Wonder how good she is in bed?'

"Very subtle," Kate said, glaring at her husband.

"Thanks." The reply was dripping with an equal amount of sarcasm.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my old Bunkie back from the Tower days," Grayson said, smiling. "Heard you got a deli now up on Jane and Irwin. I just might have to stop in someday and give your place the official 'Grayson seal of approval'."

"Cut the crap, Dick," Logan said, his words just as sharp as the claws of the Marvel hero who shared his name. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The CEO pursed his lips. "I just came by to say hello to an old friend," he said.

"Morgue's empty right now," the former Titan said, jabbing back. "Unless you plan on coming out of retirement," he added.

The two were surprised as Grayson let out a laugh. "You really are a funny little man, Logan," he said.

"So I've been told," Garfield said, his brow furrowing.

The man chuckled. "So, tell me Garfield," he said, slowly, "How's Raven looking these days?"

"What's it to ya?" Logan asked, his voice like a knife edge chop.

"Just figured I'd ask," Dick said, smiling. "So, how is she?"

The other man just stood in silence, glaring back at him.

"Oh, come on, man," the businessman said, playfully. "You can tell me. Is she still good? Would you fuck her?"

Logan took in a deep breath, shaking his head. "Grayson, you better start walking," he said, delivering an ultimatum, "'cause if you're still here after three seconds, I'm gonna…"

"You're gonna what?" Grayson said, his face becoming grim. "Look at yourself. You're fat, bald, you can barely see, and you're way out of your league. I could stomp your ass right now with both hands tied behind my back and blindfolded!"

Despite the probable truth to those words, the little green man stood firm. "They why don't you?" he asked, defiantly.

Grayson merely sniffled, and adjusted the collar of his jacket. "Because I don't need to be ruining this suit," he said, stuffily. "It probably costs more than you do."

The two men stood toe-to-toe. The hatred Logan felt for Grayson was practically radiating off of him. Kate knew she had to defuse the situation quickly.

"Come on, Garfield," she said, tugging on his arm as if she was a little girl. "It's not worth it. Let's go."

With a reasonable amount of restraint, Logan finally relented, and let his wife drag him down the hall towards the elevators.

"Yes, go to God, Mr. Logan," Dick said, grinning. "Feel his undying love. And hey, while you're there, say a quick prayer for Cyborg would ya?"

Logan stopped yet again. His head whipped around, his filled with unbridled fury.

The CEO laughed, knowing he had struck a nerve. "That is," he added, "if he can hear it over his own screaming down there."

"MOTHERFUCKER!" the former Titan exploded, charging back down the hallway straight towards Grayson. Once again, the businessman's security team caught him up and held him firm. "Don't fucking talk about him like that! Don't you dare fucking talk about him like that! He was a better man than you'll ever be, asshole!"

Grayson simply smiled and waved bye-bye as his boys 'escorted' Logan to the elevator, his wife following quickly behind. Such a loser, he surmised. He didn't have time for this bullshit. He had business to attend to.

* * *

"Hey, you in the mood to see a friendly face?"

Raven heard this phrase again for the second time that day. This time, however, she recognized the voice and knew exactly what was going on.

"What do you want?" she said, coldly as she spotted Dick Grayson standing in the doorway.

"Come on, Rae," the man said, smiling. "Now is that the way to treat an old friend?"

The woman laughed bitterly. "Some friend you are," she quipped.

"Oh, really?" Grayson said, stepping into the room. "I'd say that a person who is willing to put up a couple of million dollars to support a former teammate in her time of need is a very 'good' friend."

He stood over Raven as she sat on the bed, his figure imposing itself upon her. "I just had a little run-in with your old wannabe fuck buddy, Mr. Logan." He smiled down at the woman, making her feel uncomfortable. "You haven't told him, have you?" he said, grinning. "Just can't bring yourself to explain to one of the only friends you got left on this planet that the man he hates with all his heart is the same one who's keeping you alive. Now, that's fucked up."

"What would you know about friends, Dick?" Raven said, defiance in her eyes. "All the friends you ever had wouldn't even spit in your direction now. Not after all the shit you pulled."  
"Hey, not my problem," Grayson said, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't care if they hate me, worship me, or masturbate screaming my name. The truth of the matter is, I'm the most powerful man in Titan City, and I'm the only thing standing between you and a nice little plot right next to Stone's."

"Fuck you," Raven's voice was emotionless. She wasn't about to grovel on the floor before this asshole for anything. If anything had survived from her life before cancer, it was her pride.

"Now, now, is that the way to thank the man whom you owe every waking moment to?" Grayson's tone was patronizing, like he was speaking to a child. She didn't like that, and it was time to let him know.

"I don't owe you shit," she said, bitterly. "I know you don't give a good damn about me or my condition. You're just buttering up to all the people in this city to hide the fact that underneath your smile and your thousand-dollar suit you're just a piece of shit who doesn't care at all about anyone except himself. All I am is a PR stunt for you, something to make this people of this city goo like little babies whenever something comes along that ruffles their feathers. You're a sad, pathetic, little man, you know that? Garfield's got more balls now than you ever will, you sad sack of-!"

Raven's words were cut short as Grayson's right hand grabbed her throat with unbelievable force. Her eyes went wild, and her heart skipped a beat. Was she next in his little black Book of the Dead?"

"You ungrateful little whore," the man hissed, keeping his body positioned so no one in the hallway could see the death grip he had on the woman's neck. "You know, you'd probably have been half-dead by now, sitting in a medically-induced coma if it wasn't for me. Do you have any idea how much it's costing me to keep your sorry ass alive?"

As quickly as it had come, the pressure on Raven's throat released. She collapsed on the bed, gasping for air.

"You know something, Raven?" Grayson said, smoothing out his hair and again adjusting his jacket. "All you are to me is a bad business decision. As a businessman, I know that in order to move forward, you have to cut your losses. So, listen up, sweetheart: the fairy tale ends now. You have two days. Then, I cut my funding."

Raven couldn't say a word. She simply stared in shock, listening Grayson's heartless words. The sheer fact that he could do that, to one of his own, was utterly ruthless.

"Enjoy whatever time you've got left, Rae," Grayson said, walking towards the doorway. Halfway out, he paused, and looked back at her. "You were a hero once…so do me a favor, and try to die with a little fucking dignity."

As the woman watched her life literally walk out the door, she drew her knees back up to her chest, and clutched them. Soon enough, the tears would come. Raven had just found out that Garfield had been wrong. She was going to die after all.


	7. The Bleeding

"That's going to be $178.54, Ms. Wilson."

Rose Wilson sighed as she dug deep into her purse. As the rate the cost of living was rising, she wondered how long this price tag would last for her weekly necessities. Still, there were two things in her life that kept this charade alive.

Hearing a sound behind her, she looked – and sighed. It seemed that one of those reasons was busy trying to open every candy bar he could get his hands on.

"Malcolm, come on," she said, at her wit's end as she picked up the four-year-old and placed him in the shopping cart. "Can't you keep your hands off something for more than three seconds?"

"I told him he'd get in trouble, but he wouldn't listen," Looks like the other reason to live was starkly pointing out the obvious.

"Catlin, I told you not to be a tattle-tale," the woman directed her words to her seven-year-old daughter as she handed two hundred dollar bills to the young man behind the counter. At least that part had been taken care of.

"Well, you also said that my swimming coach Mr. Turner was a fudge packer!" Rose shut her eyes as she remembered the cardinal rule of having children: never say anything in private that you wouldn't want your children to say in public. Feeling her face turn red, she pushed the cart towards the exit while the people behind her had a good chuckle.

Life hadn't been going well for Rose. Not everyone dealt with the problems she had been dealt. She was on all kinds of depressants for the 'outbursts' she had in her life. Thankfully, medical advances had restored sight to both sides of her face. She could still remember that day, in a mess of rage and psychosis, how she had taken that knife, and plunged it deep…

She shook her head, trying to clear the disturbing images as she loaded the groceries into the back of her small hatchback. That life was over for her. It had been ever since the start of "The Crusade". Granted, she had known Nightwing prior to his change of heart, but she feared her past transgressions could very well have landed her on a cold slab in a forensic lab. That's when the pills began. Prescription, perfectly legal. For the first time in years, she felt whole again. The Ravager was all but gone from her system. True, she had ended up drunk on many occasions and bore two children from two separate men who split as soon as she started puking in the morning, but the nightmares had disappeared. She had her children, and her life. That was all she needed, she thought as she buckled her son into his booster seat.

That's when she felt the cold steel pressed against her back. Jerking up, she nearly struck the back of her head on the inside of the car's roof.

"No sudden movements," the voice whispered in her ear. "Get in the car."

Slowly pushing the seat back up to its' locked position, Rose climbed into the vehicle via the passenger side door, her attacker following close behind. Trying to remain calm, she buckled her own seat belt as she glanced over at the intruder. His head and body was covered with a grey sweatshirt, the hood pulled up to hide his face. She was willing to chance that the bulge in the middle of the sweatshirt's front pocket was a weapon and not something more…erect.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she started up the vehicle. For a second, she expected the frantic ranting and yelling of a drugged-out thug or a kid who wanted to be a baller. What she got was a surprise.

"Home," he said, his voice calm and collected.

"Home?" Rose echoed. "Where's that?"

"Just drive," the voice spoke again, still calm.

* * *

Rose's mind raced as she pulled into traffic. With everything she had learned over the years, taking out this guy should have been a piece of cake. But something was holding her back. Yes, it was the children. She breathed deeply. She could handle taking a beating. Hell, she could even handle if the thug shot her. But if he did anything to hurt her children…that would simply tear her apart.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Rose watched as her children bickered amongst themselves. She had to do something soon. If not for her sake, for theirs.

As she approached the intersection, the light changed from green to yellow. Stealing a quick look at her unwelcome passenger, she noticed that he seemed to be preoccupied with reading the local billboards, especially the ones with Dick Grayson's face plastered all over them. This was perfect. One shot. Just needed the right moment.

The light changed again. Red. Red means dead. She smiled to herself at the twisted joke. It was time.

The car lurched to a halt as Rose stomped on the brake. As she flung forward, her right hand left the steering wheel, and dove under her seat. Within a split second, the chrome .45 was hers, and she whipped her hand around to the passenger side of the car – only to find a blue-steel model pointed directly at her own face!

The children began crying and whimpering as Rose and the passenger held guns mere inches away from the other's face. It was a Mexican standoff if there ever was one. For a moment, the only things the woman could hear were the sound of her heart beating in her chest and the tears from her children in the back seat. Then came something she had never expected…

"You still have it," the passenger said, slowly turning his head to meet her eyes. "Even after all these years, you have never forgotten who you are."

A gasp escaped Rose's lips as she took in the sight of the black and orange mask before her. It was unreal. Only one person could have that skill and wear that mask…

"…Daddy?" she said, her tough exterior cracking as she sounded much like the young girl she had been when she first saw that face.

He let out a sigh. "Yes, baby," Slade said, "it's me."

In a small car, stopped at an intersection in Titan City, Rose Wilson found one more reason to live as the light turned green.

* * *

"Welcome home."

Slade slowly took in his surroundings. It was a modest two-story home. Nothing too extravagant about it. Looked like many of the homes in the area. Not necessarily a bad thing if you didn't want to attract attention.

"So," Rose said, setting the groceries down on the counter. "What do you think?"

The merc took another look around every detail being captured in his mind. It was this very level of perception that had made him such a dangerous adversary.

"I like it," he said, quietly. "It's not complicated. Useful for what I have to do."

The woman stared at her father, watching his every move. The same drug that he had taken years prior still ran through her veins, albeit highly diluted from the cocktail of medication she was on. Still, she knew that he had something more than interior decorating on his mind.

"So I can assume you're not here to bounce your grandchildren on your knees and tell them stories about the old days, right?" she said, somewhat saddened.

"Are you sure you'd want me to?" Slade asked. He had never been a loving father to Rose, and he certainly couldn't be one to her children. He just didn't have it in him.

"I'd take you over that whack job Grayson any day," Rose said, taking a seat in a well-used recliner. "He's not the one who helped me get this. Still don't know how you did it."

Slade looked down at the ground. When he had found out the state of his health, he had wired all the money he had 'accumulated' over the years from his activities, and had it sent to a Swiss bank account. From there, he had issued a twelve-month delay before the funds were to be transferred to a secured bank account – the one held by his daughter. "You're all I've got left," he said, slowly. "Well, I guess that's not exactly true anymore."

Leaning back against the wall of the living room, the merc stared at his daughter. "How have you been, Rose?" he asked.

The woman smiled weakly. "Not too good," she began. "First, I get a call from welfare. They're cutting out my food stamps because I make too much working from home on my reports. Barely enough to keep the lights on, but just a little too much for government assistance. Next, my boss calls me and says I better have my next report on his desk by five o'clock tomorrow evening or he's coming over to my house to bash my face in. So, I decided I needed to be selfish and used my time to buy things that help keep my family alive. To top it all off, I suddenly found myself being hijacked by some sweatshirt-wearing maniac who happens to turn out to be my own dad." Leaning back against the seat, she grinned. "With the exception of the last part, it's been a rather shitty week."

"I see," Slade said, quietly.

"You know, you're not one much for conversation," Rose said, kicking off her low heels. "Then again, you never were. So, how have _you_ been?"

The merc shook his head. "You've read the papers," he said. "I was dead for nearly ten years. Apparently I rose from the grave last night and killed a couple of money-swindling assholes along with an up-and-coming police commissioner and an aging sad sack in a Batman costume."

The woman's bare feet hit the floor as she leaned forward from her chair. "Are you saying it was you who killed Bruce Wayne?" she asked, her mouth open in shock.

Slade chuckled. "I'd say it was a hell of a way to announce my return," he said.

"Yeah, some announcement," Rose said, propping the chair's footrest up and lying back. "Only guy who sees you do anything significant is currently in a hospital ward blowing spit bubbles, and police are saying the security footage from that night is missing. Unless you left them a snow globe with your name in it, Gotham's finest are planning to chock this one up to a tragic act of violence."

"Wait a minute…" the mercenary thought back. He had taken out the guards, but he had left the machines alone. There should have been crystal clear evidence that he had eliminated Wayne. So where did it go?

"Great start to a comeback, Dad," the woman said, playfully. "Keep this up, and maybe they just might think that you might somehow be involved with this."

Rose felt a little uncomfortable as she watched her father push off from the wall, and strolled over to her side. It seemed like she had ruffled his feathers. Not the best thing to do to a battle-hardened mercenary. Slade bent down, his mask mere inches from her face.

"I'd watch what you say, little girl," he said, his one eye squinting. "Remember, I know you better than any man alive, and I know exactly where to strike to deliver the maximum impact."

The woman pondered this statement for the moment. The next, she let out a yelp as she felt two fingers glide up the center of her bare soles. For this one moment in time, the legendary mercenary seemed almost father-like to Rose. Soon, it was gone, and the rigid nature of Deathstroke returned. "I have some…supplies to acquire," he said, slowly. "I won't be gone long."

Rose sighed, shaking her head. "The last time you said that, I was fourteen," she said, softly.

Slade knew he had been caught. He found himself speechless, unable to respond in kind to his daughter's words. But, suddenly, something deep inside him resonated, and he found the words he needed at that moment.

"Look, I know I made mistakes…No, I didn't just make mistakes. I made major fuckups. I took you and your life for granted, and there is nothing I can do to ever give that back. What I can promise, however, is that I will make amends. Whatever you need, whenever you need it - I will be there."

The woman slowly raised her head from the chair, and looked into her father's face. She had never heard words like that come from him before. To tell the truth, she was rather frightened to hear that side of him. It sounded so unreal, so fake. How could a mercenary like Slade Wilson have any kind of emotion underneath his heart of ice? Still, she almost hoped it was genuine. She didn't know exactly why, but she hoped just the same. "You promise?" she asked, a smile forming on her face.

Slade nodded. "As long as blood flows through my veins, I will never stop protecting you."

As the mercenary slipped out the door, Rose settled back in the chair. The reports could wait, and her boss could go fuck himself. Her father was back – and he was a changed man.

* * *

The bag buckled with unprecedented ease as Grayson's fists struck again and again. The speed and power of those punches would leave many people, even the heroes who knew the former Nightwing, in awe. Ten years removed from 'The Crusade', Dick was not in the same shape as he was back in his prime. He was better. His sleek, muscular frame was practically zero percent body fat, and he still moved with the speed of a cheetah and the reflexes of a mongoose. To Grayson's personal security team, him continuing to train at such a high level after all these years seemed…unusual. His team was trained to deal with attacks ranging anywhere from fistfights and knives all the way up to some crazy nutcase armed with a rocket launcher. The chances of whomever was attacking Grayson actually reaching him were very slim, so why did he train? The severity and disciple seemed to denote that the former hero had a mission, that he was keeping himself in the best shape of his life for something. Something that he was hoping would happen. But whatever that was escaped the minds of the guards.

Grayson had just landed a couple of good knee shots to the bog when the intercom speaker in his weight room went off.

"Mr. Grayson?" It was Isabelle Winters' voice on the other end. Dick came to a stop. Looks like duty had called.

"Yes?" he called out.

"Sir, there are a few gentlemen here who wish to speak with you," the secretary said. "They say it's a matter of utmost importance."

"Show them into my office," Grayson said, grabbing a towel and drying the sweat from his face. "Tell them I will be there momentarily."

"Yes sir, Mr. Grayson." Isabelle's voice said as the intercom cut off.

* * *

Five minutes later, a showered and neatly pressed Dick Grayson was on his way up to his office. As the doors opening in front of him, he was met by Isabelle. Glancing around, he saw another man standing over by his desk and one over by his wall of trophies.

"Here they are, Mr. Grayson," the secretary said, smiling.

"Thank you, Ms. Winters," the CEO said, returning the smile. "That will be all."

"Yes, sir," Isabelle grinned, and made a beeline for the door.

As Grayson stepped into his office, the man over by his desk raised an eyebrow. "You've gotta to be kidding me? Personal elevator?" he asked.

"That's just how I roll," Dick said, smiling. "Elevator goes down you my personal workout room, and up straight to the roof – you know, for those times when I want to get in the helicopter and wave down to the little people."

"Man, I think they'd enjoy that too much. Then again, so would you." Captain Michael Zeddemore let out a laugh. He had known Grayson for many years, and the businessman was practically part of his family.

Dick shook the police captain's hand, and gave him a small embrace. "Hey, Mike," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Same old, same old," Zeddemore said, grinning. "My job's been a damn breeze for the past ten years. Last week we rounded up five graffitists and two jaywalkers. I think you've done too good a job in this town, Grayson. Shit keeps going like this, I'll need to find another line of work."

"Is that so?" Grayson said, laughing. "Well, I could always use an experienced security chief."

"I send you my resume," Z said, jokingly. "I think my dad'll make a good reference."

Grayson smiled. Winston Zeddemore had been the captain in charge back when he first started off on his own. The grizzled officer had actually applauded Nightwing's brutal tactics. He had realized that Jump City was on the highway to Hell, and that the young man had been the only turnoff the city had to get themselves free of the darkness.

"You know, he still talks about the day he retired from the force?" the captain said, shaking his head. "Commissioner had given this big sob-ass speech about what all he had done for the city, and they had given him that shiny gold watch that works only about half the time when all of a sudden some dude in a black and blue jumpsuit shown up out of the clear blue, hugs him, and the two pumped their fists in the air for a big photo-op." Z let out a chuckle. "The two of you looked like a pair of black power activists. Still, he ain't ever forgotten what you did for this city. He didn't even care that the city changed its' name six years after he retired. He was just proud to have retired from Jump City PD after earning his spot as the police captain who helped bring the change."

"Well, I'm honored to hear you say that," Grayson said, sighing.

"Yeah, now I can go tell my dad you send your regards and maybe he'll shut up about it for a little while," Z said, smirking.

The CEO patted the man on the back. "So, Z, what brings you here today?"

"Well, I think that other man over there would like a few words with you as well before we begin," the captain said, jutting his thumb in the direction of the other man.

As Grayson looked over, he noticed an aging, balding man in a suit starting at his wall of accomplishments. Even from behind, the businessman was certain that he knew who he was looking at. Only one way to be certain…

"…Alfred?" he asked, his words hanging on the breeze.

The old butler turned around, a sad smile on his face. "Master Dick," he said, quietly in his refined tone.

"Alfred, you old dog, you!" Grayson said, strolling over and embracing the long-suffering servant. "Come on, take a seat," he spoke, guiding him over to a chair in front of his desk. "Jesus, it's been forever since I saw you last! How are things?"

As the butler sat down in the chair, Dick realized that he was visibly shaken. Something must have happened. Something big. "Not well, Master Dick," Alfred said, leaning back. "Not well at all."

"Dick, something bad's happened," Zeddemore said, firmly. "You might wanna take a seat for this."

"Wow," the businessman said, somewhat stunned. "Usually I'm the one asking others to take a seat. This must be really bad."

As Grayson took his seat behind his desk, his mind was calculating what might have happened. Z being here wouldn't have narrowed much down, but the fact that Alfred was here…well, that could only mean one thing in his book…

"I sure that with the work you've been doing and the places you've been today, you haven't had the time to catch up on the news," Zeddemore began. "My department has been trying to reach you for a few hours. That's why we're here now."

"What's so big you guys had to come in person?" Dick asked. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Alfred leaned forward in his seat, a look of immense sadness in his eyes. "Master Dick," he said, tearfully, "Your mentor, Master Bruce…he died last night."

On the button. Grayson had been right. Bruce was dead, and they were here to deliver the message in person. He looked down at the floor around his desk, and let out a heavy sigh. "Well, I guess we all gotta go one day," he murmured. "So, where did they find him?"

Z leaned on the desk, a grim look on his face. "Ten feet out from his penthouse window – and thirty stories down," he said, matter-of-factly. "To top it off, he was dressed as Batman."

"He is Batman," Dick said quickly, before realizing the gravity of the situation. "I mean, he _was_ Batman," he said, correcting himself.

Shifting in his chair, the CEO sighed again. "So, you guys came here to inform me of his death before you release the information?' he asked.

"Wish that was all," Zeddemore said, his face still grim. "Goddamn media hounds broke the news that Wayne was Batman before the police even showed up. Plus, he wasn't alone."

Dick raised an eyebrow at the last statement. Bruce may have always been a womanizer, but that's not what he thought the captain was getting at. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Z stood up straight. "Bruce wasn't the only one to die that night," he said, shaking his head. "Commissioner Barbara Gordon was killed as well, along with about fifteen guests at Wayne's little shindig and nine members of his own trained assault team. Hell, they even found two guards down in the lobby. This wasn't some random act of violence; this was a massacre."

The hairs on the back of Grayson's neck stood up. Not many people in this day and age had the kind of skill needed to caused that much pain an suffering – well, with the exception of himself. But this seemed more focused, like a plan had been in place for quite some time. In Grayson's mind, there was only one man who could do something like that. Problem was, he likely wasn't doing it from the grave.

"Do the Gotham police have anything?" he asked, slowly.

Zeddemore smirked. "Far as the public knows, it's just a tragic act of violence taken against a good man. Sure, Jim Gordon says it saw it all, but his mind went down the toilet when he did – the police have made that very clear. So, the only unbiased evidence they might have had would have been from the security tapes…"

"…but they're all blank," Grayson said. The feeling of déjà vu still echoed in his mind.

"Exactly," Z said, sighing. He paused for a moment, and slowly reached into the pocket of his jacket. As the two men watched, he pulled a small disc from the pocket and held in up for all of them to see.

"What's that?" Grayson asked, confused.

The captain smiled. "The security tapes from Bruce Wayne's penthouse last night," he said, confidently.

"But you just said that the tapes were blanks," the CEO said, leaning forward, his eyes trained on the disk.

"They are now, and that's exactly what the public thinks," Zeddemore said, spinning the disk on his finger. "The truth of the matter is that the police found the security room, watched the tapes, and then sent a call to my office."

"What for?" Grayson asked. "Gotham PD should be able to handle this."

"Yes, but they don't want to handle it their way," the man said, leaning back on the desk and sliding the case over to the businessman. "They want it to be handled our way – more specifically, _your_ way."

Grayson took the disk into his hands. Whatever had happened in that building the night before was contained on this little piece of plastic, and it was big enough that Gotham wanted him to take care of it the way he had taken care of problems back in his days as Nightwing.

Getting up from his seat, he walked over to the built-in security screen he had installed next to the elevator. Placing the disk into the main slot, he stood back as the machine starting playing the night's accounts. Every moment from the elevator doors opening to Bruce's fight with the figure and the final shot that ultimately ended his life was contained in a small space of footage. It had taken all but five minutes for it to occur.

As the figure stepped away from the edge, the outfit he wore came into focus. Suddenly, he looked up at the camera. Grayson knew this wasn't by accident. This had been a deliberate act. The person had wanted everyone to know who had been responsible for these actions. The CEO took it all in: The outfit, the weapons, and the mask. The legendary mask. It seemed that the dead had risen after all.

A slow smile broke out across the face of the retired hero. The face looking back at him through the camera was Slade's. There was no doubt in his mind. He was back, and Grayson would finally get what he had been training for all these years…

"Dick, the police in Gotham are trying to keep this all hush-hush." Zeddemore's voice brought the man back to the present. "But if you want, we can spread the word that Deathstroke is back…"

"No," Grayson said, cutting off the police captain as he strolled back to his chair. Sitting down, he sighed. "Tell them to continue with the cover-up…and tell them also that I accept their request."

Z nodded. "I'll get the word out," he said.

"Master Dick," Alfred said, his tired old eyes almost pleading for mercy, "your mentor would not want you to avenge his death in such a manner. To do so would disgrace everything he ever taught you. Please, don't do this to him."

The CEO let out a bitter laugh. "You know something, Alfred?" he said, staring back at the old butler. "I don't think it really matters what the fuck Bruce would think. He's dead; I'm not. So, I'll do things I way I want them to be done, and you'll sit there and shut your hole and be glad of what I'm doing. Are we clear on that, old man?"

The old servant simply sighed. It was as Bruce had feared: Dick Grayson had become one in the same with what he once fought. In the end, there was only one outcome to that way of life. Looked like he was going to have to find that out on his own. "Yes, Master Dick," he said, quietly.

"Good," Grayson said. Pressing the intercom button, he waited for Isabelle to respond.

"Yes, Mr. Grayson?" the voice said.

"Send my boys in to escort Mr. Pennyworth and Captain Zeddemore to the lobby," he said. The former hero now had a lot of work to do, and not too much time to do it in.

* * *

Rose awoke with a start as her ears picked up the sound of movement in her garage. Looking around, she found she was still sitting in the recliner. 'Must have dozed off,' she thought, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Damn drugs knock me out faster that a roundhouse to the back of the head.' Her children were sitting over on the couch, watching TV. They had seeing their mommy pass out so many times, it had become routine for them.

The woman's bare feet padded against the floor as she walked across the hardwood to the door leading out into the garage. It was wide open. As she peered inside, she saw her father standing over by her workbench. In his hands was one of the MP-5's that had brought a rain of death on the guest of Bruce Wayne's party the night prior. He was adjusting the sight to match the range at which he would use the weapon. Hanging on the board in front of him was a menagerie of weapons ranging from shotguns to pistols and everything in between. Slade had built up a store of tools that could arm an entire militia in his years, and now he had moved it all into Rose's garage.

Slade paused momentarily as he put down the machine gun. "Sorry if I woke you," he said, clearly aware of his daughter's presence even without looking at the door.

Rose leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her face. "What, no flamethrower?" she asked, playfully.

"'Fraid not," the merc said, now focusing his attention on his main pistol as he broke it down for cleaning. "You have no idea how difficult it is to find one of them in this day and age."

"Have you tried Craigslist?" the woman asked, grinning.

Slade chuckled. "I don't think they have a 'used military armament' forum," he said, jokingly.

Rose stood back up straight, and shook her head. "So, you plan on setting up shop here?" she asked.

"Good of a place as any," the mercenary quipped as he ran the bristled brush up and sown through the barrel of the gun. "Need to stay on top of things. People in this world aren't as dumb as they look. Eventually, they'll put two and two together and then the entire planet's gonna be after me. Need to be ready for that."

"No, what you need is a hot meal," his daughter said, smiling, "and maybe one other thing…" The woman disappeared from the doorway, only to return a minute later. Slade could hear the sound of her feet slapping on the concrete floor of the garage as she approached him. Turning, he watched as Rose set a towel and a bottle of body wash on the workbench. Eyeing it for a moment, he looked up into her smirking face.

"You might not be a corpse, but you're certainly starting to smell like one," she said, her face breaking out in a grin.

The merc looked down at the gun barrel in his hands. Slowly, he set them down on the bench. This work could wait. Right now, he had more important things to do.


	8. There For You

Slade's arm wiped away the condensation that had built up on the surface of the mirror. He had taken his daughter's advice, and had cleaned himself up. To be honest, he actually felt pretty good. Perhaps Rose was right after all in regard to his disposition…

Looking into the mirror, the merc's moment of clarity came to a close as he took in the sight of his face. The scar tissue that ran down the right side of his face looked like worms that had burrowed deep beneath his skin, twisting and writhing throughout his face. Placed in the center of this mangled mess was the dark hole where his right eye had used to be. Slade couldn't quite remember when exactly that had been taken from him, but his body bore numerous scars whose history he couldn't grasp.

Feeling around the empty socket, he thought back to when his daughter, in a psychotic rage, and tried to emulate her father by gouging out her right eye. She had nearly died when infection had set in. Thankfully, she had regained control of her mind, and medical science had apparently allowed her to regain her sight through a genetically grown copy of her other eye. Now, she looked as if it had never happened. She had even mentioned to him as she took his outfit to be washed that he should try the same technique.

'No,' he thought. 'I've lived long enough without it. If I had it replaced, it would only hinder me in what I have to do.'

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "Dad, are you decent in there?" Rose asked as she cracked the door open. Quickly, Slade's right hand went up to his face. He didn't want his daughter to see the damage. She didn't deserve to see that ghoulish face.

The woman drew back with a start as she noticed her father starting back at her, his shoulder-length dark hair obscuring the rest of his face that wasn't already behind his hand. "Oh God, I'm sorry," she said, quickly.

"It's okay," Slade muttered quietly, a small smile on his face.

A moment of silence fell between father and daughter. "I, uh, managed to find a pair of sweats that one of the guys I was seeing left here," she said, uncomfortably as she handed the garment to Slade. "There's dinner waiting for you on the table as well."

"Thanks," the merc said, quietly. "I'll be out in a few."

"Okay," Rose said, her voice nearly a whisper as she closed the bathroom door.

With a simple motion, Slade grabbed his mask and set it in place back over his face. That had been too close for comfort. No one needed to see what his life of villainy had left him with, especially his daughter. He would have to keep on top of that.

* * *

Rose shifted in her chair as she saw her father emerge from the bathroom. She had heard the stories about him, about the cancer that had spread inside his body and left him a shell of the man he was. 'A living skeleton' – that's exactly how the media had put it. But as the merc stepped into the light of the dining room, he seemed as if he was coming from a portal set deep in the past. His scarred chest was puffed out, with a highly-defined six-pack of abs rounding out his chiseled frame. His arms were cut, muscles pressing against the surface of the skin with such force his veins popped out from deep within. For a man who should have been dead, he looked as if he had become a god. Though his mask now sat on his face, his hair, shoulder-length and dark despite his years, billowed out around his head, obscuring all the rest of it. For a 63-year-old man, he was in phenomenal shape.

"Gosh, Dad, and I always thought Chuck Norris had been in good shape," she said, grinning. "Even he didn't look like that at your age."

Slade chuckled as he took a seat across the table from his daughter. "Chuck Norris didn't kill people for a living, even though his fans enjoyed watching him do it in the movies," he said, quietly.

With a quick motion, the merc looked down at the plate that sat before him. A medium-sized T-bone steak, a baked potato, and broccoli. Not too shabby. Still, this meal brought a question to his mind.

"Rose, how can you afford to buy steak like this?" he asked, looking up at his daughter. "These things were expensive back when _I_ was a kid."

The woman smirked. "I've had them for some time," she said. "I guess I was just waiting for a special occasion to cook them up."

Slade chuckled again. He didn't have to ask what that occasion was.

As the family prepared to eat their meal, the children couldn't take their eyes off of the strange masked man who now sat with them at the table. Granted, they had seen many men sit in that very spot, but none of them had ever spoken to their mother with a quiet tone. They had been loud, and said very mean things. Now as they took in the sight of him again, they could feel a…connection to him, as if he should have been there all along.

"Mommy, who is that man sitting at the end of our table?" Catlin was quick to ask her mother. This was a question that had been asked each time someone new had been in that place. However, this was the first time that her mother actually seemed happy to answer that question.

"Well, honey," she began, gesturing to Slade with her hand, "This nice man is Mommy's daddy, and your grandpa."

Grandpa. The word struck the merc in a way no blade ever could. Here he was, the murderous and hated assassin Deathstroke the Terminator, sitting at a table enjoying a meal with family whose lives he knew less about than he did the Teen Titans, and now he was being referred to as 'Grandpa'. This was quite honestly something that he never expected would occur in his life.

"But you said Grandpa was no longer around," the girl replied, her gaze now fixed upon him as well. "Why wasn't he here when all those other bad men were?"

Rose cleared her throat. This was not going to be an easy answer. "Well, he had his own life to live and, to be honest, I wasn't sure he would ever come back from where he was going," she said slowly, trying to find the words to explain the situation that didn't come out as 'Grandpa's a killer, and he was presumed dead'.

"Where did he go?" The seven-year-old's creed was in full effect: Respond to every answer with another question. This time, however, it was Slade who proposed an answer.

"I went away," he said, quietly as he set down his silverware. "I wasn't feeling good, and I thought that if I were to…disappear, then your mother would not have to pay for my mistakes."

"What mistakes?" Catlin asked, badgering for another answer.

"The mistakes of my life," the merc said, calmly. "You see, Catlin, I'm not a very nice man by description. I have done many bad things, both to those who deserved it and those who didn't. But if there was one thing I was afraid of, it was someone tracing my life in order to get back to your mom."

"Why were you afraid?" the girl continued with her questioning like a police officer in an interrogation room.

"Honey, please stop," Rose said quietly.

"But why was he afraid?" Catlin repeated the question, still yearning for an answer. "Why? Why? Why?"

As the girl repeated the word over and other, the woman glanced nervously at her father. She could already feel the rage from the drug burning in her own system at her daughter's incessant nagging, and it was fighting through four different drugs to reach the surface. Slade, on the other hand, was still dosed, and the smallest trigger could send him into a psychotic episode. She watched, waiting for the little twitch in his eye that signaled the drug was taking effect, that he was about to explode. But to her surprise, her father didn't react as she thought he would. In fact, he seemed to actually calm down ever further.

"Catlin," he said slowly, "Your mother and I have a history of doing things that are…bad. But, unlike me, Mommy never did anything more than she needed to do to keep herself and the ones she loved safe, just like she's doing now. I, on the other hand, let things get out of control."

Leaning back in the chair, he let out a long sigh. "I thought that I could bring this world down to my level," he continued, his eye closed as he thought back. "I thought I could become a god among men. But what I failed to realize is that a god shouldn't be feared for his or her power. No, they should be praised for their restraint, their willingness to have such power and to never use it. I wasn't that smart. Despite my methods, I always hoped that there would a place for me beyond this world…a place I know you, your brother, and Mommy will go, regardless."

"What's beyond this world?" Catlin asked.

"A better one," Slade said, leaning forward and putting his arms on the table. "A place where war, crime – all the bad things that people in this world do are gone. It's a world of peace, and happiness, where no one ever has to take turns or feel bad because someone else has more than they do. A perfect world. I even got a glimpse of it once, many years ago. It was beautiful."

"If it was so beautiful, why didn't you stay?" The girl's question was more drawn out. It seemed that her capacity for knowledge on this evening was coming to its' zenith.

"Because I had something left to do," the merc said, looking at all of them. "When I was here in Titan City many years ago, I dealt with a handful of young kids. They didn't take too kindly to me trying to make their city my playground, so they would oppose me, try to stop me at every turn. One of them took these scraps between the team and me very seriously. His name was Robin, but you probably know him today as Dick Grayson."

"Yeah, I do," the girl said, smiling. "Last year my teacher told the class all about how Mr. Grayson saved the city from the bad guys. She really thought he was a real superhero." The smile faded from the girl's face as her young mind realized the truth. "Grandpa, are you saying you were a bad guy?"

Slade sighed. "Yes Catlin, I was," he said, truthfully. "I did many bad things, and Mr. Grayson did all he could to try and stop me. But, somewhere along the years, something happened. Little by little, Robin became less of a hero, and more like me. I had always told him during our fights together that he would one day become just as bad as me. But, I was wrong."

"How?" the girl asked, more concerned now with the answer than her grandfather's past deeds.

"He didn't become as bad as me," the merc said, quietly. "He became _worse_. He turned his back on everything he stood for, and he began doing bad things. But the people of this city didn't get angry at him. That's because he began doing bad things to bad people, people who had hurt and frightened those who lived in the city. No one cared that bad people were going away. They only cared that their lives would be better at the expense of others. You see, Catlin, in fighting with Mr. Grayson, I managed to turn him into a…a boogeyman, someone who lived off the fear and hatred the people of this city felt towards people like your mom and me, people who didn't get the chance to work a regular job or had friends to support them when they were down. In essence, I created a monster – a monster that thrives right here in Titan City. I made Dick Grayson into that monster, and only I can unmake him."

An unsettling silence set over the table. Rose simply stared at her father with awe. What had she just seen? The inner mechanisms of a man who ended lived for a living? Was he really blaming himself for the actions Dick Grayson took during 'The Crusade'? The silence was broken as Catlin looked up from her plate.

"Well, if you can make monsters, can you make other things?" she said. Then, with a big smile, she added, "Like cookies?"

At first, it started low. Then, the sound rang up deep from within. Rose couldn't believe what she was hearing. It seemed, unreal…

Slade Wilson was laughing. A genuine laugh. Not one filled with bitterness or psychotic tendencies. It was something the woman had never seen before. It was almost like a dream.

"No, Catlin," he said, cheerfully. "You better ask your mother about that one."

With the tension lifting from the table, the four continued with their meal, more a family now than they had ever been.

* * *

As Rose tucked her children into bed on the second floor, she had a moment to reflect on what had occurred that night. For the first time in her life, she actually felt like she knew her father – not just by name, but emotionally as well. It was strange, almost like something out of the book of fairytales she would read to her daughter every night: The knight in shining armor returning when her family needed him the most. Turning out the light, she took one last look at her sleeping children, remembering the words her father had told her right before he left to pick up his armory. He would always be there, and he would protect them to the end.

Heading back downstairs, she could hear the sounds of her father inspecting and cleaning the weapons in his possession from the garage. With nothing better to do, she took a step out the door to see where he was. The image she saw was uncanny.

Slade stood before the workbench, once again clad in his legendary outfit. This time, however, he had left the hood off, and his long hair billowed down over his mask. He looked like a young Hollywood star ready to take on the world. If that was only the case.

"So," Rose asked, leaning against the frame of the door, "How do you plan on unmaking Mr. Grayson?"

"One piece at a time," Slade said, shining the outer casing of his pistol. "I plan on showing him what it must have been like for all the villains he cut down during his 'Crusade'."

"How's that gonna work?" the woman asked, wondering just what her father had planned. If he had bided his time long enough to scope out and devise a plan to murder Bruce Wayne, then he probably had something equally as devastating for Grayson.

"Phase One is complete," the merc said, placing the gun back on the table. "Wayne is out of the picture. Now, it's time. Grayson took from the villains who had Jump City on lockdown. Perhaps now it's time for me to take from Grayson." Looking at his daughter, he sighed. "Tomorrow," he said, the legendary tone of voice returning, "I begin the endgame."

* * *

_A dark room. A familiar face. A shot in the dark. Blood. So much blood…_

Raven awoke with a start. Her eyes darted around the room. She was still in Room 413 of Titan City Medical. At least, she would be for the next two days. Grayson had delivered his ultimatum, and chances were slim that he was going to back out of it. But the businessman's threats seemed superficial now. Something else had captured her mind.

Rising to a sitting position, the woman looked out her window. The quarter moon lung high in the night sky. The clock next to her bed read 3:04 A.M.. This was it. Something had come to her in a dream. But Raven knew that she didn't dream like a normal person. What she saw, what was vivid in her mind, was not the wanderings of the subconscious: It was a vision. She had learned to trust these nocturnal sights with high regard, mainly because each of them had a habit of coming true. She had foreseen the destruction of Earth by her father, Trigon, years before he had set in motion the events that would turn her into an avatar of death. True, the Titans had managed to put an end to the uprising, but she feared it was only because they had the relenting fury and expertise of Slade backing them. This time, no one would be in her corner. This was something she would have to face alone.

As the clock face changed to 3:05 A.M., the Girl from Azareth accepted her fate. The visions had come. She was going to die.

* * *

"Look Mom, I'm running late. Can't we continue this conversation once I get there?" Kate said impatiently as she tugged her heels over her stocking clad feet. "Yes, I'm aware that we have a family plan, and the minutes don't cost anything extra, but if you tell me everything that's going on, I won't have a reason to come see you. Okay, I'll be there in a few hours. Yes, I'll tell Garfield you send your love. Okay, bye Mom!"

"And you wonder why I never pick up the phone," Logan said with a smile as his wife hung up her cell and shook her head.

"Jeez, she can be such a handful sometimes," Kate said, dropping her cell into her purse. "What part of 'I'm coming out to spend the night with you and catch up on old times' does she not get?"

"Well, you know how your mother is," the man said, combing back what little hair he had left on his head. "If the toilet overflows, it's a national emergency."

"Don't get me started on that," his wife said, frowning. "One time, I scraped my knee while we were at the playground for a local charity. The second it starts to bleed, my mother is in tears, on her knees, praying to the Lord to protect me and watch over me."

"Well, she always seemed to be overprotective of her kids," Logan said, straightening out the collar of his shirt.

"Garfield, I was twenty-two," Kate said with a sigh.

The man looked at her, befuddled. "Wow," he said, shaking his head. "That was a bit much."

"Well, maybe it wasn't all bad," the woman said, placing her hands on Logan's shoulders. "Because of her, I still have my health, my knee and, more importantly, I have you."

The two shared a brief embrace, followed by an equally brief kiss.

"Okay, I'll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon," Kate said, smiling. "Try not to have too much fun without me."

"I'll keep that in mind," the man said, smiling back.

He watched as his wife headed out the door of their two-story dwelling and took off in her Escalade. But there was no time to be spontaneous. He had to get to work himself.

"Time to make the donuts," he said, grabbing his keys.

* * *

The day had been going pretty well for the proprietor of the first and currently only vegetarian deli in all of Titan City. Despite having a rough start, the eatery had managed to attract a steady stream of regulars. Some were in it for the food, while others were interested in hearing stories of days past from a former Teen Titan.

As much as Garfield hated to relive the time from Nightwing's betrayal, he delighted in recounting the many battles he had been privy to during the Titans' heyday. All in all, it had been a regular day, and as the store prepared to close shop for the night, the obligatory last-minute phone call came over the line.

"Logan's Deli, Home of the Mile-High Tofu and Cheese. This is Logan speaking. How may I help you?" The former Titan had his spiel down pat. But he was unprepared for what he heard on the other end.

"Garfield, it's Raven." Logan's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. This had only been the second time in recent years that she had called him personally, and the first time had not been good news. Chances were this was not going to be pleasant, either.

"Rae? What's up?" he asked, not sure that he wanted the answer.

"A lot," the woman's voice sounded almost emotionless. "I need you to stop by the hospital tonight."

"Rae, it's nearly eight o'clock," Logan said. "Even if I bust ass to get out of here, I won't get there until nearly eleven. I still have closing duties and paperwork to fill out. Besides, visiting hours are over."

A small chuckle came over the line. "Well, I don't think that will be able to stop you," Raven said. "Just…be here soon, okay?"

"Yeah, I promise," the man said.

CLICK. The line went dead.

* * *

As the night shift nurse made her way to the break room for some much-needed coffee, she was oblivious to the small green mouse that scurried on the floor near the reception desk. Once she was out of sight, the rodent continued its' path down the hall. The darkness, coupled with the mouse's apparent nearsightedness, made it difficult to see. However, the scents it was picking up allowed it to navigate to Room 413. Like most hospital rooms, the door sat a few inches off the ground, making it easier to ventilate the room.

With a small degree of difficulty, the plump mouse squeezed its' frame under the door. Looking around, it caught sight of something that was truly beautiful to behold.

Raven sat on the end of the bed, her legs crossed Indian-style. Her head was tilted back as she chanted in her mysterious language, her dark hair billowing in her face. Her body was wrapped tightly in a small robe. Her mediation was something that had been long forgotten since the events that began a year and a half prior. Still, here she was on this very night, returning to her roots.

The mouse practically smiled as it climbed its' way up the side of the hanging bed sheets. It had just figured out the perfect way to make its' presence known.

* * *

Raven was cut off in mid-chant as she felt a multitude of nails scraping along the surface of her skin, darting each and every which way underneath her robe. The sensation was eerie, to say the least.

"Knock it off, Garfield," she said, firmly. "I know it's you."

Still, the nails danced around her flesh. By this point, an unwilling smile had formed on her face. "Quit it, that tickles," she said, suppressing a giggle.

As if on cue, the nails began moving even quicker, doing its' best to cover every last inch of her skin. By this point, Raven was on her back, legs kicking wildly as giggles spurted out. "Stahahahahahapp!" she cried, trying not to draw the nurse's attention. "Okahahahahay! I give up-ahahahahahaha!"

With that, the scurrying came to an end. As the woman recomposed herself, she watched the rodent drop to the floor. But it was Garfield Logan who rose in its' place.

"I oughta kick your ass," Raven said, breathlessly as the man grinned at her in the moonlight.

"Come on, you know you love it," Logan said, chuckling. "So, what's the news?"

As the woman regained a sitting position, her face was rather somber. The former Titan did indeed have news for her friend and teammate, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Garfield, the reason I called you tonight is because I was sent a vision," she said, running a hair through her hair.

The news took Logan by surprise. "A vision?" he asked. "You haven't had anything significant appear since Trigon. What could be happening now?"

Raven let out a sigh. "Something's changing," she said, quietly. "There's a great deal of arcane energy that's slowly emanating from the city. Something big's gonna happen. What, I don't rightly know."

"So, you're saying there a strong disturbance in the Force?" Logan said, his brow furrowing.

"Something like that," she said getting up slowly and walking towards the window. Her body felt nearly perfect. No pain, no weakness. She hadn't even resorted to the weed to keep her body out of agony. She actually felt like her own self again. That would serve only to make what she was about to say even more horrendous. "A massive cataclysm is coming to Titan City, one that will change it forever. Trouble is, I can't see it clearly. Probably because…probably because I won't be around to see it come to fruition."

"What do you mean?" Logan asked, confusion setting in on his face.

Raven turned from the view outside to meet the man's eyes. "My vision," she said, matter-of-factly. "Garfield, I'm going to die…soon."

"You don't know that," the man said, walking towards her. "You've lived this long with cancer. It won't just take you overnight."

The woman gave a sad smile. "It's not the cancer that gets me," she said. "It's something altogether different."

"Just 'cause you saw it doesn't mean that it's a sure thing," Logan said, refusing to believe the words coming from his friend's mouth. "I mean, you saw your father destroy this world, and we're still here, aren't we?"

"That was a fluke," Raven said, shaking her head. "Things changed. I had the Titans to protect me."

"Well then, this could be just another fluke," Logan said, trying his best to rationalize any hope he had of his friend's vision of death.

"I doubt it," she said quietly as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "But I guess there's always that bit of hope."

"Hell, I prove you wrong," Logan said, confidently. "Tomorrow morning, I'm gonna be here at ten o'clock, and I'm gonna walk you right out those doors. Fuck what those white coats say - I'm gonna take you out and get you a Grand Slam breakfast at Denny's."

"I thought you were trying to make sure I didn't die?" Raven said, playfully.

"Very funny," Logan said. But it was true. It had been funny. Looking down at his watch, he sighed. "Well, it's almost eleven-thirty. I better get rolling. See you tomorrow, Rae."

As he turned towards the door, he felt a hand grab his arm. Turning back, he looked into Raven's tear-filled eyes.

"Gar, remember what you said to me yesterday?" she said, softly. "About how we could have had something? About how you were already ready, and you were just waiting on me?"

The man cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. "Yeah, I remember," he said, his voice just as soft.

The woman bit her lower lip. "What if I were to tell you that I was ready now?" she asked, her voice basically a whisper. "Would it be too late?"

The question hit Logan like a Mack truck. He had never in his wildest dreams believed that Raven would ever return his affection in kind. But, it was too late. He had said so himself. She had waited too long to see life for what it really was, and he had found the woman who could provide the companionship he had been craving for so long. Too little, too late. Nothing could ever change that.

His hands rose up to encircle Raven's face. He brushed back her long, silky hair to take a deeper look into the eyes of his former teammate. He knew that time had passed them both by, and that whatever they could have had was dead and buried. It had to be. But, as his eyes locked with her's, he knew the truth.

"Rae, it's _never_ too late," he said.

* * *

As the dark night settled in, two bodies mingled on the edge, two minds intertwined with one another. So strange, yet so natural, as if it should have been all along.

As his hands roamed her naked form, she could feel the passion building up deep within her. Her life had been one of restraint, wearing a mask of strength to hide the fact that she always felt inferior to others, incapable of experiencing the same joys and sadness that her peers took for granted. Now, it was as if the shackles had broken free, as if her mind was finally open to the world around her, taking in all that could be offered.

As they reached the climax, both knew that fate worked in a funny way. Despite all that had hindered and embittered their lives, they had managed to recapture a bit of the glory days, to turn back time for just a single moment. They had learned not to just live their lives, but simply to _live_, for forsaking even one moment of precious time was something they would regret when the hourglass ran out.

On a set of sweat-stained sheets in a hospital ward bathed in moonlight, two souls regained what it truly meant to be Titans.

* * *

Raven opened her eyes. 3:05 A.M. Time had passed and the room remained silent around her. Getting to her feet, she walked to the window, her naked silhouette lying on the floor of the room. The moon sat in the middle of the sky, signaling that it was nearly time for it to disappear until the following evening. But Raven continued to stare at it, taking in its' unearthly glow. She felt this would be the last night she spent on this planet.

"You've certainly grown into a mesmerizing woman." Her eyes widened. Turning slowly, she looked near the door of the room. Sure, enough, the shadow of a man sat in a chair positioned next to the frame. "Needless to say, I am taken aback by your beauty."

Raven turned, feeling the hair on her arms and neck rise up. "I figured it was a matter of time until you tracked us down," she said, quietly.

Slowly, the shadow stood up from its' seat, and made its' way over to her.

"You know why I'm here, don't you?" the voice said as Slade's mask emerged from the darkness and into the moonlight.

"I had my visions," Raven said, staring at the merc. "I didn't expect it was you who would be coming."

Slade stared at the woman, his hand resting on his pistol. His hair was gone, back up inside his hood. This was business, and he planned on being professional.

"It was just a matter of waiting for the perfect moment," he said, coldly. "You know as well as I that Grayson plans to honor his threat. You will be left with no medical care, and that cancer is going to eat a hole right through your heart. Of course, you could ask for help from Logan. He couldn't turn you away, not after the history you two have had. He actually cares, unlike that rich bastard who's paying for you to die slowly while he squeezes a few more sympathetic tears from the masses."

Slade began pacing the floor, silent for a moment. "But, I wonder how willing Garfield Logan would be to help you if he knew that Grayson was paying your medical bills? Even more so, I wonder what he would think of you if he knew about that night you spent with him in order to secure those funds…"

"What did you expect me to do?" Raven said, defiantly. "Just lay here and die? I couldn't ask Garfield to help me. He's barely getting by on his own. He has a wife to support, and a business to run. He couldn't have afforded the medicine that's kept me alive this long. In the end, he would have run himself bankrupt only to watch me slowly wither away."

"But, you slept with Grayson," Slade said, making it clear he didn't plan to overlook that fact.

"Yes I did, and I hate myself every single day for it," the woman said. There were no tears in her eyes, no fear in her voice. If she was to die, she would go out standing on her feet, like a hero would. "I never told Garfield because I didn't need to give him another reason to hate Grayson. I don't care what he would have thought of me. I've had damn near forty years of my life spent trying to protect myself, and it's all amounted to nothing more than bullshit. If there's one thing I plan to do with what time I have left, it's to allow Garfield Logan to feel like Beast Boy again – like a goddamn hero, not like that fucking asshole in his pressed suit and Gucci shoes who thinks he can walk on water and guide the people to the gates of Heaven on a wing, a prayer, and a daily load of ass-fucking to keep them in line."

Slade stood in silence, looking at the woman before him. She was stronger than he had remembered. Despite the threat of impeding doom, she still held fast. She had made enough mistakes in her life. She had allowed a powerful man to violate her in order to keep herself alive, only to have him prove his true nature when he took it all away. In truth, he was proud of her. She was ready to walk into the light, with no regrets.

Slowly, the mercenary placed a hand on Raven's shoulder. To his surprise, she didn't even shiver at his touch. "You seem pretty calm for someone who's staring at their murderer," he stated.

Raven managed a weak smile. "The sad thing is, I honestly feel more comfortable with you than I do with Grayson," she said, sadly. "Both of you are the same – killing to achieve the means to an end."

Slowly, the woman raised her right hand, and placed it over Slade's chest, right over his heart. "But something's different," she continued, her eyes focused on the floor. "_You're _different. I know that won't change what you have to do, but I do know you have a different outlook on life now. You have something that keeps you going besides your own needs."

The two adversaries stood in silence for the moment, the moonlight bathing them in an eerie glow. It was time.

"Are you ready?" Slade asked, quietly.

Raven let out a heavy sigh. This was it. "Make it clean," she said, softly.

Without a sound, the merc pulled the pistol from its' holster. The woman let out a gasp as the cold metal touched the skin right underneath her breast.

"Oh man, that's cold," she said, shivering involuntarily.

"Sorry," Slade said. "On the count of three, okay?"

Raven breathed in deep, and nodded.

"Good. One, two…"

As the merc hit three, Raven shot up in pain. The dull sound of the silenced weapon was like a small puff of air being shot out of a paintball gun. Her eyes widened as her hands gripped Slade's shoulders. Slowly, her legs trembled, and she sank to the floor, gasping for air. The merc followed her down, gently laying her out on the tile as she looked at him. Her eyes were filled almost with…gratitude, he thought as she shuddered.

"It's…so strange," the woman said, quietly. "I feel…I feel…_free._"

Slade felt the grip of Raven's hands weaken, followed by her body giving one last massive shudder before falling still. As her mind settled into the darkness, the Girl from Azareth could see the crimson flowing from beneath her right breast. A perfect shot. The words crossed her mind one last time: _A dark room. A familiar face. A shot in the dark. Blood. So much blood... Garfield would be disappointed, after all_.

The visions had come true.

Raven was dead.


	9. All Around Me

As his officers rolled the crime scene tape out slowly across the doorway, Captain Michael Zeddemore stood in a somber silence. Two days before, he had been speaking to Dick Grayson about how lackluster things had been criminally in the city. Now, he was wishing he had never said anything to jinx it.

His eyes surveyed the room, taking in every detail. What had happened here the night before had been the work of a pro, no doubt about that.

"The victim has been identified as one Rachel Roth, 40 years old." Scott Randolph, Z's lieutenant, said, giving his sit rep. "Formerly known as Raven of the Teen Titans. Patient of Titan City Medical for about a year and a half. Apparently, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Damn…she was still so beautiful."

'That she was," Zeddemore said, quietly.

"Sir, how could she afford medical care at this level?" Randolph asked, shaking his head. "It's not like retired superheroes are given a pension or something."

"Let's just say she had some friends in high places," the captain said, already fully aware of how Raven had been able to gain the funds. "Anything else on your report?"

"One last thing," the lieutenant said, continuing on. "Apparent cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the chest just below the right breast. Chances are the heart was pretty much liquefied on impact. She would have been dead in a matter of ten seconds."

"And no one heard a thing?" Z asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, the nurse on duty was halfway buried in old paperwork and had headphones on," Randolph said. "Despite the close range of the wound, there is very little powder burn on her skin. Strange…"

"…He used a silencer," Zeddemore said, running his profile of Slade Wilson through his mind. In his opinion, there was no doubt that the avenging merc was behind this. The level of planning, the avoidance of security cameras and guards, the skill in which he ended Raven's life…Only he had that kind of ability.

"Who used a silencer?" the lieutenant asked, unaware of his captain's knowledge regarding Slade's return.

"Whoever pulled this off," the captain said, not missing a beat. The return of Deathstroke was information only he and Dick shared between them in all of Titan City. True, the tabloids and the local news had made allusions to the mercenary, especially after what Jim Gordon had said, but without any solid evidence, no one could prove a thing.

"Do the rest of the Titans know?" Randolph asked, quietly.

"If they don't, they will soon enough," Z said, looking out the window at the early morning sun.

* * *

Garfield Logan was enjoying the morning. The air was just perfect. The temperature hadn't exploded out of control just yet, and everything seemed to be at ease. Everything, he thought, except the storm he knew would be brewing once he returned home that day. The night he had spent with Raven was still on his mind, and he could feel the tinge of his conscience badgering him. He was a married man, married to a woman he had fallen head over heels for, and he had just committed an act of adultery with the girl he had called a friend since his teenage days. But the truly disturbing thing was how much he didn't seem to care about that fact. All he could focus on was the conversation that had taken place on that faithful night…

* * *

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how was that?" Logan whispered into Raven's ear as the two of them lay on the bed, his arm draped over her side.

"Are you sure you want me to answer that?" the woman said, smirking. "I mean, haven't I abused you enough in your life?"

"Well, maybe I oughta return the favor," the man said, a wicked grin on his face.

Raven's eyes went wild as Logan's fingers danced over the surface of her soft belly. Despite the possibility of nursing staff being in earshot, a deep musical laugh escaped from her mouth. "Gar, stop!" she cried, squirming under his touch. "Are you trying to get us in trouble?"

"No, I'm trying to get an answer out of you," Garfield said, smirking as the woman giggled uncontrollably. "So, how was that?"

"Okay, okay, quit! It wasn't half bad!" Raven squealed, finally managing to push the man's hand away from her ticklish stomach.

Logan sat up as the woman rolled on to her back, her body glistening in the moonlight. "Wasn't half bad?" he said, a look of shock on his face. Then, he broke out into a grin. "Hell, I'd say that was a compliment!"

Raven let out a small laugh. "Only you would think that," she said, smiling. "That's probably what I've missed about you the most. You never let anything change your outlook on life. Well…almost anything."

Garfield looked down at his friend's naked form. He knew exactly who she was talking about. "Rae," he said, slowly. "Cyborg…Luther was one of the only friends I had, and when I found him on the floor of his room, just lying there, it damn near killed me. I know you weren't there to see him in that way, but you cared about him as much as I did. Star, too. As much of a fuck as Nightwing was, Dick Grayson was worse. He had no right…no right to say what he did at Luther's funeral."

The woman propped herself up on her elbows, looking deep into the man's eyes. "No, he didn't," she said, softly, "but you're letting your hatred for him spiral out of control. It's eating you from the inside in a way much worse than the cancer in mine ever could. I hate to say it, Gar, but you and Starfire are starting to have a lot in common."

Logan's face broke out in shock. Quickly, he got up off the bed and stood beside it, staring at Raven with intensity. "What the hell do you mean by that?" he asked in a huff.

The woman sighed, and laid back down on the bed, resting her hands on her chest and intertwining her fingers. "I knew you were going to take offense, but the fact of the matter is that both of you have an obsession, an obsession that causes you to do things that you never would have done, an obsession that is slowly draining away every last bit of your humanity. For Star, it's the drugs; for you, it's Grayson. Each one is having an impact on their respective victims, and ultimately this obsession will kill you. Star will likely overdose, and you will likely stroke out or have a heart attack from the constant stress Grayson's memory is leeching into your system. It's death, either way you look at it."

Garfield Logan looked at the floor as he slowly pulled his pants back on. Raven's words had struck home harder than he ever thought they could. She was right: his obsession, his hatred for Grayson had only brought him sorrow and misery. Perhaps it was time to cut the cord, to banish Dick Grayson from his life for good. He sighed slowly, locating the spot where he had tossed his shirt. "You know, even after all these years, after all that's happened to us," he said, shaking his head, "you're still a helluva lot smarter than me."

The woman smiled. "Gar, that's not exactly a hard thing for me to do," she said, playfully.

Logan responded by dragging the nails of both his hands up the bare soles of Raven's feet, sending her into a fit of giggles as she pulled them away. "Gotcha," he said, grinning.

With his attire back in order, the former Titan let out a sigh. "So, we still on for tomorrow?" he asked.

"I wouldn't want to disappoint you," Raven said, flashing a smile. She had yet to throw her robe back on, something which Logan wasn't bothered with in the least.

Slowly, she got up from the bed, and walked over to the window. "Here," she said, opening it up a crack. "This way you don't have to toddle back past the night shift again."

Garfield smiled. "Thanks, Rae," he said, appreciatively.

As the Titan prepared to transform into an owl and make his departure, he felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. Turning back, he watched as Raven gave him a somber expression.

"Gar," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "please don't let Grayson destroy who you really are. You're the only one of us who never got lost on the path of life. Don't let that bastard sideswipe you into a road of regret. Please, promise me that."

The man wrapped his arms around the woman, his eyes full of understanding. "I promise," he whispered back.

In a fell swoop, his lips planted themselves onto hers. This night had been a reawakening of body and mind, but for them it had ended all too soon. For once in her life Raven, the emotionless sorceress whose sole existence was to be an avatar of destruction, finally found herself at peace with her life and everything she held dear. For Garfield Logan, he had found the one embrace that he truly felt at home in. Kate was beautiful and understanding, but she had never witnessed the things he had seen. He had spoken of them before, but each time there was a look in his wife's eye that always appeared. It was the look of a person who could not comprehend what had occurred in the Titan's life, and without that history that look would forever stare him down. But Raven knew. In fact, she knew more than he ever hoped to know. Soul mates, two lonely spirits walking the same path, a path that crossed many times, but both had been too blind to seize the moment. Tonight, their eyes were open, open for the first time to a world in which love could have many different meanings, all of which differ from one to another.

The lips gently separated, and the two looked deeply into each other's eyes. Life was funny sometimes. This was one of those moments.

"I'll be here tomorrow at ten," Logan said, grinning. "You better be ready, or I'm gonna tickle you into submission."

"I would love to see you try," Raven said, returning the grin.

Without so much as a sound, the man's body morphed into the form of a spotted owl, and gently sailed into the night, a night that would remain in both their minds forever…

* * *

Logan was snapped back to reality as he pulled into the parking lot of Titan City Medical. A multitude of police cruisers had pulled up to the emergency entrance, and there was a crowd gathering outside the building.

"That's a lot of people," he said to himself as he shut off the Town Car's engine. "Wonder if an officer got shot on the job or something?"

Glancing at the doorway, the man noticed that police officers were blocking admission to the entrance to all with the exception of the seriously injured. No way was he going to get in that way, and chances are the main entrance would be guarded just as efficiently.

Looking around to make sure no one noticed him, Garfield slipped out of his vehicle and took refuge behind the trunk. If he knew one thing, it was finding a way inside a building without drawing attention.

* * *

As police held back the unruly mob, the little green mouse slowly toddled its way past them and headed straight for an empty elevator. It had been just too easy.

As the doors closed, Logan resumed his normal form, and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

"I still got it," he said to himself as he leaned up against the side of the elevator. He could feel the machine rolling slowly to a halt as the fourth floor approached.

DING. The doors open to the sound of hustle and bustle. But this was different. Police forces were concentrated even more so on this level. Whatever had occurred, it had been up here…

Garfield broke out into a cold sweat, shivers running down his spine as he recalled the warning Raven had given him the night before surrounding her fate. 'No…it's just coincidence', he thought to himself as he stepped out into the hallway. Just as he stepped out, he noticed a man with a kit heading down the hall in front of him. His stature and face stood out in Logan's mind. 'That's Michael Willis, the head coroner of the Forensic lab', he thought, recognizing the man's face from the bank incident all those years ago. Willis had been promoted to Chief Medical Examiner about twelve years back – probably because his predecessor had dealt with enough dead bodies sent to him by Nightwing, he surmised. But what was he doing here now?

The man watched in silence as the coroner made his way down the hall, passing multiple rooms as he went. Fear gripped Logan's chest as he watched the man continue his walk.

"Please, not 413," he said to himself, almost pleadingly. "Any room but 413…"

Willis spoke with the police officers near the end of the hallway, and made his way under the crime tape. The door was wide open, but there was too much commotion to see what was going on. However, the sign near the door had been left unblocked, visible even to the man's failing eyesight.

It was Room 413. Garfield's heart dropped straight to the pit of his stomach.

"No…" he said. "NO!"

Without a moment's hesitation, the man charged down the hallway, heading towards the location that he knew would hold a grim surprise for him, but he didn't care. Something had happened, and he just had to know what was going down.

Captain Zeddemore noticed Logan coming. As two officers moved to intercept him, Z waved his hand.

"Let him through!" he ordered. The two officers quickly broke off, allowing the man to come the rest of the way down to the doorway of Room 413. What awaited him at the end was a scene that would forever etch itself into his mind.

Raven lay on the cold tile, her body encircled by a crimson pool. She was as naked as the day she was born, and her eyes sat wide open, locked in that position from death's cold embrace. The blood trail led up the side of her body right underneath her right breast. It was a scene out of a forensic drama if there ever was one. Still, even in death the body was a beautiful sight to behold.

Slowly, Logan knelt beside his fallen friend, his knees landing deep into the blood pool around the body. The crime techs on the scene opened their mouths to complain, but a dirty look from Zeddemore shut their mouths just as quickly. The police captain knew just how much pain and agony the former Titan was in as he stared down at the lifeless form of a former teammate and the woman that he truly loved. The scene was basically done anyway, as the coroner was just preparing to transport the body down a few levels to the morgue.

Tears welled up in Garfield's eyes as he stroked Raven's long hair. Her cold stare was almost unbearable to look at, yet there seemed to be a level of acceptance in those dead eyes. Rachel Roth, the former Titan, was finally free of her earthly bonds, and free from the pain that had antagonized her for so long. At last, she was at peace.

"I can't say much about the rest of the world," he said as tears rolled down his face, "but I know that you're up there now, with a smile on your face. You're back with Cyborg, and you'll be waiting for us when the time comes. Goodbye, kid."

With his final words, Logan gently planted a kiss on Raven's forehead. The cold skin sent shivers down his spine. His hand moved to push her eyelids down, closing them for the final time.

As he rose to his feet, Garfield was a broken man. Another Titan. Another death. He hadn't been the first to find her, but he felt the same either way. His feet shuffled slowly as he made his way towards the exit. On his way out, he stole one last glance at his friend as Willis began setting up his body bag. That image would burn forever in his mind. At least he had managed to bring Raven one last night of happiness and excitement, of laughter and friendship and something more, something that fate had decided was time to cut cruelly short. But he knew, and she had known how much they loved one another. In the end, just as he had said to her before the fireworks began, it was never too late to live – even for only one night.

"Mr. Logan?" The voice of Michael Zeddemore brought the man out of his grief-laden daydream. "Mr. Logan, I'm Captain Zeddemore. I'm terribly sorry for your loss. I know you and Raven were tight."

The man shook his head, uttering a bitter laugh as he did so. "I should've seen it coming," he said, quietly. "She told me she had a vision, one of her own death. I guess I was too blind to see it. Maybe I didn't wanna see it. I had hope, you know?" Garfield's eyes were downcast as Raven's body was slowly wheeled out of the room. "Hope…it's just the worst, isn't it?"

Z ran a hand over his mouth. He knew that the next thing that would come out of it would not be too pleasant. "Mr. Logan," he began, "I know this is a bad time, but you're the only family she truly has, and you of all people should know: preliminary examination suggests that Ms. Roth was…assaulted sexually not long before her death. A rape kit will be processed shortly, and we should have some sort of DNA evidence within a day or so…"

"Skip it," the man said, coldly. "I already know."

Zeddemore was somewhat taken aback by the former Titan's response. How could he already know who the suspect was? "You do?" he asked, visible confusion on his face and in his voice. "Well, who was it?"

Logan turned his head, and stared directly into the police captain's eyes. "You're looking at him," he stated simply.

The captain's jaw dropped in shock. His mind had already processed exactly what Garfield had told him, but even it was stunned by the revelation. "You?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were a married man."

"I am," the man said, sternly. With Raven gone, there seemed no real reason to keep the affair secret. Only he was left to blame.

Zeddemore looked down at the floor, and let out a heavy sigh as he put his hands on his hips. "Mr. Logan, you are aware that by telling me this, you've just incriminated yourself and admitted to being with Ms. Roth before and around the time of her death, right?" he asked.

"I am," Garfield echoed the same response from a few moments before.

Z shook his head. "If that's the case," he said, slowly, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to accompany me down to the station for further questioning."

Despite the realization that admitting to the affair now placed him as a suspect in Raven's death, Logan was emotionally unresponsive. "That's fine," he muttered, his voice as quiet as a mouse. "There's nothing left for me here now, anyway."

Zeddemore nodded to the two officers who had attempted to intercept Logan, and they proceeded to lead the former Titan back down the hall towards the elevators. The captain had only a few more loose ends to tie up, and then he would be down to escort Logan personally to the station…

Suddenly, the sound of an animalistic scream rang out over the hospital ward. Z turned just in time to see Garfield slam his right hand right through the glass door covering the fire extinguishers. As glass shards rained down, the man collapsed to his knees in grief, his body wracked with heart-wrenching sobs as he clutched his arms to his chest. The officers stood in a stunned silence, not sure on the next course of action. One of them looked back at the captain, seeking an answer.

"Sir?" he asked, well aware his superior was privy to the scene in front of him.

"Give him a moment," Zeddemore said, calmly. "He's just lost the last best friend he's ever had."

The officers bowed their heads and waited for the agony to subside. Life was downright brutal sometimes. This was one of those moments.

* * *

A sharp knock at the door brought Dick Grayson's attention back up from his paperwork.

"Yes?" he asked.

The door cracked open ever so slightly. "Mr. Grayson, do you have a moment?" It was Isabelle. However, the tone of her voice seemed off, as if she was upset.

"Of course, Ms. Winters," Grayson said, straightening up. "What is it?"

As the secretary came into the office, Dick realized that she had been crying. Her red eyes were still tear-filled as she came up to his desk.

"Whoa, what's wrong?" he said, concern in his voice as he rose from his chair.

"Mr. Grayson…I'm sorry," Isabelle cried, her body shuddering with grief.

The CEO quickly came around the desk, and wrapped his arms tightly around the young woman. "Shh, shh, shh…it's all right…" he whispered in a comforting tone. "Just calm down…Now what's going on?"

"I…I just received a message from Titan City Medical," the secretary said, tears running down her face. "Rachel Roth is dead."

Grayson stood in silence for a moment. 'Hmm, I guess she was worse off than she was letting on,' he thought to himself.

"Don't cry, Isabelle," he said, slowly. "We all have to go someday. At least she went out peacefully, right?"

To Dick's surprise, that statement served only to make the secretary cry even harder. "No, she didn't," she sobbed. "Someone shot her…shot her right in the heart."

As Isabelle Winters cried, her tear-filled eyes were downcast. Because of that, she never saw the twisted half-smirk that had come to Grayson's face. 'So, this is how he wants to play it,' he thought. 'He's going to put away all the remaining Titans. Well, maybe it's time I up the ante.'

Looking back down at the grief-stricken young woman, he resumed a somber expression. "Don't worry, Isabelle," he said, adding a tone of grief to his own voice, "I promise that the Titan City PD and I will not rest until Raven's death is avenged."

The secretary looked back up into Grayson's eyes. "You mean that?" she asked, a small smile beginning to form on her face.

"It's a promise, isn't it?" the CEO said, giving a tight smile back. "I never go back on my word."

Isabelle gently broke free from Dick's embrace, and nodded, a big smile on her face. "Bless you, Mr. Grayson," she said, wiping way her tears, "Bless you and the work you do."

With that said, the secretary made her way back out to her desk. As the door closed, Grayson resumed his seat behind his desk, chuckling to himself as he did so.

"Well, well, well, Slade," he said, smirking, "How nice of you to go ahead and solve my little problem."

Raven was dead and gone, and the former hero could have given a fuck less. Suddenly he frowned. His mind was now set on how to deal with the bigger issue at hand: How he was going to break the news to the press. Looks like this was going to be a bad day for _him_ after all.

* * *

Logan sat quietly on the cold steel chair, his eyes looking down at the table. Across from him sat Captain Michael Zeddemore and Lieutenant Scott Randolph. On any other day, this could have been a meeting of two legends in a bar or at a local food joint to discuss the old days. Today, however, this discussion was taking place in Interrogation Room B at the Titan City Police Department. Needless to say, this was not going to be a merry trip down memory lane.

"Okay, we ran through the Miranda rights on our way to the station, so I think we can just skip all the bullshit and get right to questioning," Zeddemore said, a grim look on his face. "I know you don't want to be here right now, so I'll do what I can to make this short and sweet."

Logan nodded, his right hand throbbing underneath the ice pack. Chances were he might have busted his hand, but he couldn't care less. Pain was something that reminded a person that he or she was still alive. Raven had been freed from that.

"Garfield Logan, do you admit to having sexual relations with Ms. Roth around the time of her death?" Z asked. The interrogation had begun.

"Yes," the man said, coldly.

"So, you admit performing this act despite the fact that you are a married man?" the captain asked, looking for clarification.

"Yes," Garfield muttered. He wasn't in the mood for drawn-out answers.

"About what time did you leave Titan City Medical after said sexual relations?" Z asked.

"Quarter after midnight," Logan said, slowly. "I remember the neon clock in Titan Square displaying the time when I, uh, flew the coop."

"Did anyone see you leave, or did cameras catch you on film?" The captain was slowly piecing together the events that had transpired the night before.

"No, I used the window," Logan said.

This response came as a bit of a shock to the lieutenant. "But you can't fly," he said, confused.

Logan managed a weak smile. "Not in this form," he said, quietly.

Zeddemore took a deep breath, and put his hands on his hips. "So, you snuck into Ms. Roth's hospital room in order to have sex with her," he stated.

"That wasn't my intent," the man said, a tinge of anger in his voice. "Raven…I mean Rachel called me when I was closing up shop at my deli. She said that she had some news for me, and she wanted me to stop by. I told her that visiting hours were over, but she sounded desperate."

"So that's why you went to see her, correct?" the captain asked.

"Yes," Logan said, grimacing as he looked back on that night. "She told me that she had some kind of vision - two of them, really. The first was that something big was going to happen in Titan City…something that would change it forever. As of the other one…I guess she was right after all."

"What was she right about, Mr. Logan?" Z asked.

"That she was gonna die. After that…things just happened." Garfield's words were filled with sorrow as he looked back down at the table. He knew that his proximity to the crime has slowly turning him into prime suspect Number 1, but he wanted the truth to be told, regardless of how the rest of the world would view it.

Zeddemore sighed. It was time. "Mr. Logan, it's only fair that you should know that Ms. Roth was not paying for her medical care on her own," he said, setting up a surprise that would rock the man.

Logan looked up, a stunned expression on his face. "What?" he asked. "How is that possible? None of us ever had any money saved up. Everything we did have disappeared when fucking Nightwing did. Took the whole Titan nest egg so he could finance his private little war. Left us all high and dry. How could she have afforded that?"

Z shook his head, somewhat saddened by what he was about to say. "Garfield, Ms. Roth's medical care was being funded through a charity account set up by Wayne Enterprises. The head contributor was…it was Dick Grayson."

The former Titan sat in silence. The world had just stopped spinning, and everything was coming apart at the seams. The man he hated, the hero who disgraced all who ever chose to fight behind a mask against evil, had been the one who had been keeping Raven alive. Slowly, he leaned forward, and rested his head in his hands. It was almost too much to bear.

"So," he said after a brief pause, "Is this the part where you tell me I'm under arrest for Raven's murder?"

Zeddemore stood with his arms over his chest, eying the man as he settled back in his chair. He was about to break an oath, one he had made to the most powerful man in the city. But if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Logan. He was a hero, and keeping him in the dark would solve nothing in his opinion.

"No," he said, sighing. "We already have a potential suspect."

Both Logan and Randolph looked at the captain in amazement. This was not what either thought was going to occur.

"Captain, we don't have any other leads outside of Mr. Logan as of the moment," the lieutenant said, stunned.

"You don't," Zeddemore said, sternly, "but _I _do."

"Then, who is it, sir?" Randolph asked, quizzically.

Z's eyes glanced back and forth between the two men before finally settling on Garfield's. "Mr. Logan, what I am about to say will not leave this room. I don't care who asks you about the events of last night: Grayson, your wife, your co-workers - hell, even the Avon lady - you tell them nothing of what you're about to hear," he said, coldly. Looking at the lieutenant, he added, "That goes for you as well, Scott. Now are we all clear on this?"

The two men nodded, wondering what knowledge the police captain could have that required them to be sworn to secrecy.

"All right," Zeddemore said, quietly, "here's the deal: For the first time in probably a lifetime, the tabloid papers and all the conspiracy theorists are right. Gotham City PD is playing the public for fools. They swiped the security tapes from Bruce Wayne's penthouse the night he died, and set them to me with a specific order to take them to Dick Grayson. Now, I was unaware of what had transpired on the tapes, but I was informed of the true culprit." He let out a sigh as he prepared to let the cat out of the bag. "It was Slade Wilson – the one and only. The tapes depicted a type of brutality and violence only someone carrying his blood could have pulled off. Grayson was entrusted with the tapes because Gotham PD wants him to eliminate Deathstroke – eliminate him the same way he eliminated all the others here in Titan City."

"So Jim Gordon was right after all," Logan said, shaking his head.

"Yes, but that's not all of it," Z said, grimly. "From what I can tell, Slade's master plan is to make Grayson suffer the same way he made other villains suffer. He's planning on taking away everything that Grayson has left, namely…his former teammates."

The realization struck Logan like a sack of bricks. "Slade killed Raven," he said, slowly.

"Yes," the captain said, "and chances are high that he'll probably go after the last two surviving members of the Teen Titans before he sets his sights on Grayson…of which you're one."

At any other point in his life, the threat of his impeding death would have sent Beast Boy into a nervous breakdown. But Garfield Logan was a different man. With sorrow hanging heavy on his heart, he was unperturbed. Slade could come for him at any moment, but he was ready. No regrets. He would go down the Grim Reaper highway with his head held high.

"Then I guess I need to watch my ass," he said, quietly. "Are we done?"

Zeddemore could see into the hero's eyes, and knew that he wasn't afraid of death. Raven's murder had hardened him in a way years of superhero battles could never have. No matter what he said, Logan was going to go down like a hero. "Yeah, I guess that's it," he said.

The chair scraped along the tile floor as the man got up from his seat, and exited the room. Interrogation over.

* * *

Kate Logan sprung up from her seat as she saw her husband come out of the interrogation room. She had returned home a little bit earlier than expected, only to hear from her friends that her husband was being questioned in regards to the death of Rachel Roth. She knew deep down in her soul that Garfield could never do something so heinous, so despicable to someone. Seeing him emerge from the room without handcuffs was a weight off her shoulders.

"Garfield!" she cried out, running up to him and hugging him. "Oh, thank the Lord you're okay! I got a call from some people down at the church saying they were praying for you after what happened last night. Oh man, I was so worried…"

"It's okay," Logan said, no trace of emotion in his voice. "Let's just go home."

As the couple made their way towards the door, Kate caught sight of something that sent an uneasy feeling through her being: Dick Grayson was entering the police station, and it looked as if he was making a beeline straight for the two of them.

"Oh, no," she muttered. "Not here, not now…"

Grayson seemed to be wearing a rather disrespectful grin on his face as he stopped in front of the two. He was acting a bit too cheerful for someone who had heard about a former friend's death.

"Hey, Logan," he said, sneering. "Are they letting you off with a warning? What did they say? 'This isn't funny, Mr. Logan. You kill another person, and we might have to give you community service!'?"

Kate shook her head, fury in her eyes. "Have some respect for the dead, Mr. Grayson," she said, quietly.

"Oh, I have tons of respect for Ms. Raven – wait, scratch that, _had_ tons of respect," the CEO said, smirking. "Got to keep everything in a chronological order."

"Get out of our way," the woman said, her face cold as ice.

"Okay, but I just gotta know one thing," Dick said, grinning. "Do you think that, because of Rae's callous nature, that all those flames down there licking against her skin would tickle her? 'Cause if they do, I couldn't imagine a worse torment for her!"

Kate's mouth flew open. "You miserable little mother-!"

"Kate, stop." The sound of Logan's voice brought the woman to a halt. Both she and Grayson looked at him as he raised his head. His eyes burned with intensity, but his face was calm as he locked eyes with the businessman. "You know something, Grayson?" he said, quietly. "I guess what you say is true: We all have to go someday. But, I can go to sleep at night knowing that when you go, the city will be a better place for it." He paused as he started again for the door. As he passed him, Garfield shot him one more look. "Just keep that in mind when your time comes," he added.

With that, he and Kate headed out the door, leaving Grayson to ponder the meaning of the former Titan's words.

* * *

"Garfield, I can't believe you didn't fly off the handle when Grayson said what he did," Kate said as the two sat down at the kitchen table. The ride home had been a very quiet one. The woman hadn't wanted to push things any further with her husband in regards to Raven's death, but she was worried why the police would have even held him as a suspect. They had last seen her about two days before her murder, so why would they even consider Logan a suspect, let alone a prime suspect?

"He's not worth it," the man said, quietly. "Raven told me I should back off of him. His bullshit was gonna kill me if I kept letting things get too personal."

Kate smiled. It seemed her husband had a good deal of common sense after all. "I just don't understand why the police were questioning you," she said. "You weren't there the night that she…the night that she passed."

Garfield slowly raised his head, looking deep into the eyes of the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago. "Yes, I was," he said, no emotion on his face.

The remark struck Kate as odd. Why would he go see her so late in the night? "Why?" she asked.

"Raven wanted to speak to me," Logan said, his face as blank as paper. "She told me that Titan City was about to be rocked by something, and that she wouldn't live to see it happen. It was in her visions."

The woman breathed a sigh of relief as she understood what had happened. "So, because you were the last to see her alive outside of the person who killed her, you became the prime suspect," she said, looking down at the table. "Well, at least we know it's over…"

"Kate, I had sex with Raven."

Logan's words fired out like a harpoon, a harpoon that drove itself deep into Kate's chest and embedded itself within her heart. Her mind was trying hard to comprehend what had just been said by the man she loved and trusted with her life – a man who had just shattered that trust into a million tiny shards upon the floor. Her throat tightened in agony, and her eyes teared up as the message drove home. The next words out of her mouth would have sent her mother running for the holy water and an exorcist.

"You…fucking asshole…" she breathed out as the rage in her body began to take control. Despite all the teachings she had learned from the word of God, she was unable to stem her anger. Fitting enough, as her husband had just broken one of the commandments himself. "I never believed…you could do something like this to me! As much as I joked around about you and Raven in the past, I never thought you would ever betray me for her! Not once! Maybe I'm a damn fool for thinking that, but I also thought that you were a better man than that! Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

As Garfield Logan sat in his chair, watching the fury burn in his wife's eyes at the confession of his betrayal, he felt nothing inside. He had broken the spiritual bond that he had shared with this woman. He had also betrayed his own religion…

'Fuck that', he surmised as he blocked out his wife's words, 'it was never _my_ religion. I never believed in some higher power that had a reason for everything. If he's got such a damn good plan, how does Raven dying fit into it? The only reason I believed was so Kate could care for me like all those other church assholes, so that I wouldn't have to live alone for the rest of my life…'

It was at that moment that he realized the truth, a truth he had been living with and feeding to keep it alive: He never truly loved Kate. Despite all he had done, it was as if he was simply going through the motions, never really believing in what he was doing. All he had wanted was someone to be with, a friend who could understand what his life had left him with. Kate was not that woman; she had never stood down a group of armed thugs or led a rag-tag team of teenaged superheroes on a rescue mission to both save their friends and bring the hammer down on the Brotherhood of Evil. She had grown up in a highly Christian household, and went to a private school out of state. She hadn't even lived in Jump City when the walls began to fall. So why did he bother to take her? Perhaps it was his fear – a fear of dying alone, a fear that he would one day end his life like Cyborg and Raven before him, fading away alone on a cold hard floor with no one to tell them goodbye. Maybe, in the end, all he really wanted was someone – anyone – to be there with him when it was time.

Kate's words faded away as she stood up from the table in a huff, tossing the chair back on the floor as she did so. With a few more cruse words, she stomped up the stair towards their bedroom, more likely than not to pack her things and head off for her mother's. This left Logan alone in the kitchen, contemplating the fact that, with her gone, he would probably die alone after all. Life was unpredictable sometimes. As he got up and headed out to the garage to give his soon-to-be-ex-wife some space, he knew that this was definitely one of those moments.

* * *

As Kate haphazardly tossed clothing into her suitcase, tears continued to run down her face. She was overcome with grief…and hatred. True, she had been taught never to hate others by her mother, but then again her mother had never being cheated on. She hated Garfield for his actions and, God forgive her, she hated Raven for even being there to entice him. Maybe Grayson was right. Maybe she was down there now, burning for all the suffering she had caused. 'I hope her transgressions were worth all that', she thought bitterly.

The woman was so engrossed with her packing that she never even noticed the figure emerging from the shadows of her walk-in closet. But she did notice when a metallic object was gently pushed into the small of her back. Bolting up with a start, she felt a hand grab the back of her shirt collar.

"Easy now, don't think about fighting back," a deep, monotonous voice muttered right behind her ear. "You'll only hurt yourself."

Terror gripped the woman's heart. She was unable to place the voice in her mind. It wasn't Garfield's and, despite him breaking one commandment she was certain he wasn't the type to break the Fifth Commandment. This was someone else altogether.

"Let's take a walk back down stairs," the voice commanded, pulling her and positioning her facing the doorway. "When we get to the living room, call for your husband. He's in the garage. I want both of you here for this conversation."

Having little choice, Kate started for the door, the cold steel never leaving her back.

* * *

"Garfield, would you come here, please?"

Kate's voice caught the former Titan's attention. It sounded so quiet, so innocent, so much like the voice he had heard when she had first stepped into his deli on that fateful day…

So wrong. So unlike a woman who had just been jilted. Logan didn't like this one bit. Something was up.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said out loud, his hand slowly wrapping around the handle of a Louisville Slugger he kept in the corner of the garage for protection purposes. Many other people would use a gun for protection, but he didn't need anything else to associate him with Dick Grayson.

As he stepped back into the house, he noticed that the curtains in the living room had been drawn, the shadows permeating throughout the room. This was much like what he had seen the day he found Starfire slowly drowning in her drugged-up quicksand, and just as inviting.

"Kate, you in here?" he asked, slowly, tightening his grip on the bat. He was ready, regardless of what was to come. But he wasn't ready for what he saw as he entered the room.

His wife sat on the couch, tears streaming from her eyes. But those eyes were not directed at him; no, they were directed at the shadowy figure who sat across from her in a recliner, the glint of a metallic barrel visible in the light from the adjacent kitchen. Garfield let out a sigh. He knew exactly what was to come.

"I figured a guy like you could find us, Slade," he said, well aware of the man sitting in the shadows. "How long you been waiting here?"

"Four hours," the voice emanated from the darkness as the merc leaned forward, his mask visible in the dim light. "I assume that the police cleared you of all charges?"

"Yeah," Logan said quietly, letting the bat slip from his grasp. No use to him now, he thought. "Zeddemore told me you were coming."

"And you didn't run?" Slade asked, slowly.

"Why bother? You'd catch up to us eventually," the former Titan said matter-of-factly.

"That's true," the merc said, getting up from the chair.

"Garfield, I'm scared," Kate said, sobbing as she watched Slade approach her husband. "Please, make him go away."

The merc looked back at the woman, then at Logan. "She really doesn't understand, does she?" he said. "She's unaware that both you and I know how this is going to end."

"Can't blame her," Logan said, emotionlessly. "She doesn't know thing one about what it means to be a Titan."

Slade sighed. This was it. "Garfield, tell your wife that everything going to be all right," he said as the pistol's safety clicked off.

Logan took a deep breath. Looks like his fear was unfounded after all. He wouldn't die alone in this house. With a bitter chuckle, he turned towards Kate, a single tear running down his face. "Kate, everything's going to be fine," he lied quietly. "Today, you get to go to Paradise."

Kate Logan was stunned. The words that came from her husband's mouth seemed so distant, so unfeeling. Why would he say such a thing in that way? Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a single shot, the feeling of hot lead tearing through her chest, the pain of her heart rupturing inside her own body. Her back arched in agony, her eyes rolling wild around inside her sockets as her mind tried to understand what had just happened. As she collapsed on the couch, she was taken aback as a white light slowly approached her, enveloping her conscience. In this moment of clarity, she understood the truth.

"Oh my Lord," she shuddered. "I am dead."

* * *

Logan sat in the darkness as he watched the last of Kate's life flow out of her body. His heart gave no response, no inkling of pain. He had lost two people his had cared more than anything for in his life. The sad thing was that Kate hadn't been one of them. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You seemed…disappointed," Slade said, holstering his weapon. "I would have thought a hero such as yourself would have put up a great deal more resistance in the face of death, especially in regards to the death of a loved one."

The man chuckled. "Look at me, Slade," he said as his eyes broke away from his wife's body. "I'm an out of shape has-been. I couldn't take Grayson if I had all of Cyborg's bionics grafted onto my body. What kind of chance you think I would have had against you? We were both gonna die anyway. I figured I might as well let her go down gently."

The merc shook his head. "You really didn't care for her, did you?" he stated, already knowing the answer. "I mean, you acted as if you did, and maybe you really did have a lust for her and her body, but she was never really a soul mate, was she?"

"No," Logan said, quietly. "The only one I could say that about is lying in a freezer at the morgue – all thanks to you."

Slade paced the floor, building the tension in his next victim's body. It was coming for him, but when was the question. "Zeddemore probably told you that Grayson was paying for Raven's medical bills," he said, setting up the for the kill, "but I willing to bet he didn't tell you that Raven slept with Grayson to secure those funds. Am I right?"

The truth had been told, but Garfield didn't even seem to flinch. "Is that so?" he asked, his eyes trained on the mercenary.

"It is," Slade said, with a bitter chuckle. "Strange – the man you hate slept with the only woman you ever truly loved, and _you_ slept with her. By proxy, you've managed to fuck Grayson in a manner he never would have expected. Kudos to you."

The merc stopped his methodical pacing as he stood before the aging former hero. 'Strange', he thought as he looked deep into Logan's hardened eyes, 'He seems ready to die…just like Raven. I guess Grayson's betrayal ultimately made them stronger than he could have ever imagined.'

"So, I guess this is the part where you put me down," Logan said, a trace of defiance in his voice.

"You guessed right," the merc said as he slid the pistol from its' holster. Within a second, the barrel set eye-level with the Titan's face, the hole placed squarely between his eyes.

"Any last words you want me to record for posterity?" he asked.

Garfield smiled. "Just a favor," he said, sternly.

"What's that?" Slade asked.

"When you finally get to Grayson, look him in the eyes while you're killing him," the man said, a twisted cheerfulness to his voice. "I want to see what's going through his mind when he finally realizes that he's not a god."

"But you won't be there to see it," the merc stated matter-of-factly.

Logan laughed. "You're looking in my eyes right now as you prepare to kill me," he said, "so I guess you could say that Raven, Kate, myself, and Star - once you get her - will be watching Grayson die…by proxy."

The merc nodded slowly. The logic did seem to fit. "And everybody always said you were the dumb one," he mused. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," the Titan said, sticking out his chin. "Make it clean."

"That I can promise," Slade said, those words taking him back to the night before…the same words Raven had said prior to her death. 'I guess they had more in common that anyone would have ever believed,' he thought.

As the trigger was squeezed, Garfield felt his head snap back, his body leaving the ground and hurling back onto the carpeted floor. The impact that been tremendous, but he strangely felt little pain. 'So,' he thought as he settled into the darkness, 'This is what it's like to die. One hell of a thing.'

* * *

The dark highway lay out before him. The roar of a massive V-twin decorated in skulls and bleached bones left him in a tizzy. Garfield Logan was on the path of the afterlife. He smiled as the darkness rushed towards him. The Grim Reaper Highway awaited just beyond the boarder. There was no regrets, bitch. He had done it his way.


	10. Death Before Dishonor

Michael Zeddemore shook his head in utter disgust. Two times in one day was a little bit too much for a captain who had been rounding up skateboarders for the past few years.

"Somebody's going through a lot of trouble to pull this shit off, and it's starting to bother me," he said.

The police captain was standing in the living room of a posh two-story home in the suburbs. The address was registered to a Garfield and Kate Logan – the same two whose bodies now laid out on the floor, blood pooling from their respective killshots.

Z shook his head as the CSI techs began their routine. He had warned Logan about Slade, but it seemed that the aging merc had been one step ahead all along.

"Captain…" Lieutenant Randolph's voice brought the officer back into focus. "Captain, the press is here. What do you want us to do?"

Zeddemore sighed. "What we have to," he said, quietly. "Time to tell the world that another Titan has fallen."

* * *

"Well, you've definitely been on the warpath, haven't you?" Rose's voice brought Slade back from his reminiscing. "At least, I would assume it's you."

The merc sat up from the recliner as his daughter smirked at him. "So, I'm willing to bet that the local news got wind of the fact that Garfield Logan and his wife were gunned down in their own house?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rose said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I know that the local police are going to chalk this up to another random act of violence, but the people of Titan City are already talking amongst themselves. Seems they're slowly coming around to the words Jim Gordon screamed at the cameras as they shoved him in the ambulance."

"Good for them," the merc said, standing up and rotating his shoulders. "Nice to know that the people of this city aren't the blind sheep I thought them to be."

"Oh, I wouldn't give them that much credit," the woman said as she busied herself with cleaning up her children's toys, which had been strewn across the living room. "They all still think Grayson can save them all."

"Let them think that," Slade said, heading towards the garage. "It'll make it that much sweeter when they realize that he's a fraud."

Rose simply shook her head and smiled. Her father had put two former Titans in the ground. Tonight, he would ax the last person to stand between him and Grayson. Based on Grayson's lack of response to both Raven and Beast Boy's deaths, it seemed that he was too engrossed with being in the spotlight to make much of a comment on their deaths. But this would be different. Slade would strike in a way that would hurt him more than any physical wound ever could…

Rose's train of thought was broken as she heard a loud rapping on the front door.

"Hmm, I'm not expecting anyone," she muttered to herself. Making sure that the door to the garage was closed, she made her way towards the door. Maybe it was the drugs in her system, or perhaps it was the false sense of security she felt with her father around, but Rose Wilson didn't even bother to check the peephole before she opened the door. Her reward for such trust was a solid punch to the face.

The savage blow stunned the woman, and she stumbled back onto the hardwood floor, blood flowing from her nose as her eyes teared up in pain. Glancing up, she managed to recognize her attacker.

"Oh, shit…" she hissed. "Mr. Dukakis…"

Abraham Dukakis, the owner of the Titan City Financial Advisory Corporation, stood in the doorway of Rose's home. At five-six and two-hundred fifty pounds, the balding handle-bar mustached man would have made Garfield Logan look like a fitness instructor. Despite his small stature and hefty figure, Dukakis was well-known for his short temper and, to a lesser extent in thanks to his legal team, violence against women. He had hired Rose a few months back to write up the financial reports for the company each week. Because of her situation, he had grudgingly agreed to allow her to work from home on these documents. However, the report for last week's finances was supposed to be on his desk the night before. It had never materialized, so it was time the scrappy little man laid down the law.

"Well, Ms. Wilson?" he said in a gruff Jersey accent. "Aren't you gonna invite me in?"

Rose sat on the floor, stupefied by what had just occurred. She had heard of her boss's anger problems, but she never thought he was the type to act out on them. She was also in shock of her own reaction. She had simply taken a punch to the face, but her heart tightened up in fear. She was trained in the art of killing, and suddenly she was finding herself afraid of some hyped-up Oompa Loompa in a bad suit. Had she really slipped that far away from her original form, the unstoppable Ravager? Was she really this weak on the inside?

Without waiting for a response, the portly man entered the domicile. "Rose, you're a smart girl – at least, that's what people have been telling me," he began, his voice a patronizing tone like a parent would use on a child, "So I can guess that you know why I am here, and why you are now dripping blood all over your nice hardwood floor. However, if you're not really quite sure because you honestly are not as fuckin' smart as you think you are, allow me to elaborate."

Dukakis stood before Rose, his hands held in front of his body like he was Steven Segal. Granted, he probably thought that he was as bad as that man himself, for all his cockiness and attitude. "You see, Ms. Wilson," he said, the patronizing tone still in effect, "I hired you to write up all my financial reports in order to keep everything for my company in perfect alignment. Now, if I don't get my reports, which you are in charge of giving to me…well, you put me in quite a pickle. That's why I'm here…to depickle everything."

"Abraham, listen," Rose began.

"Who asked you to talk?!" the little fat man said, his face contorted in rage. "I sure as hell don't think it was me, and nobody else in this room has the authority to give that order, so you should just shut your trap and stifle, cunt!"

As that final word resonated in Rose's mind, she could feel the rage beginning to boil. She was not about to let some Keebler elf get away with being an asshole. Slowly, she got back to her feet, her eyes hardening up.

"Look, I'm not gonna ask you again," Dukakis said, pointing a finger at the woman. "You have until five o'clock tonight to write up that report. That's about an hour and a half from now. If you can't do that, then I will not be responsible for what happens when I send my boys down here to 'get you situated'." He paused, letting out a laugh as he did so. "Oh, I wonder just how much fun Mikey and Fat Richie are gonna have playing with those kids of yours…"

There was no warning. Nothing to give away how far the portly little man had gone. With a feral scream, Rose leaped forward, her hands latching tightly around Dukakis's throat. Every last smug feeling and superior smile was wiped from his face as the woman lifted him into the air with inhuman strength.

"YOU FUCK!" Rose screamed, her voice a deep and grating sound. "Don't you dare threaten my children! You think you're so goddamn special? You ain't shit!"

The big bad boss suddenly found himself at a loss for words, regardless of the pressure around his neck. No woman had ever stood against him. Slipping one hand into his pocket, he palmed something that would make sure Rose would not win this battle.

The enraged woman was so enthralled with her current situation that she didn't feel the two metal diodes connect to her body just above her right breast. She did, however, feel when the device activated.

Rose let out a scream as 500,000 volts surged through her body from Dukakis's handheld Taser. Her hands released the little man, and she once again collapsed to the floor as her boss steadied himself. As she moaned in pain, Dukakis breathed hard, his open hand running over the red marks Rose's fingers had left around his neck.

"I gotta admit," he gasped as he charged the device again, "you gotta lotta fight in ya. But I'm always gonna be better than you. Perhaps it's time you learn your place."

The little man felt immensely superior as he stood over Rose's prone form, the electricity snapping from between the two diodes. "Scream all you want, bitch," he laughed. "Ain't nobody coming to save you…"

* * *

Abraham Dukakis was a man who always thought he had the upper hand in any situation. Dealing with an uppity woman was a piece of cake. So it came as a complete surprise to him when a massive gloved hand gripped his arm and bent it back almost to the breaking point.

"AHHHH-the fuck?!" he shouted as Slade flung him hard against the doorframe. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Your worst nightmare," the merc said, coldly as he pinned the little man to the frame with his forearm.

"Yeah, well I think my worst nightmare might be dressed a little more professionally-AHHHH!" Dukakis let out another scream as Slade twisted his arm even tighter.

"One more word, and I'll break it off," The merc's words were a promise, one that even a 'tough' man like Dukakis wasn't about to cross. With a flick of the wrist, Slade tossed the man out the door onto the unforgiving concrete.

"I see you here again, and you'll never leave," the merc said, slowly.

Getting up from the concrete, Dukakis ran to his car as fast as his pudgy legs would take him. He wasn't about to stick around and see if that masked-wearing maniac was going to keep his word.

As the car sped off, Rose painfully climbed back to her feet. "Some fucking hero I turned out to be," she muttered as she rubbed her chest.

"We all get caught off-guard," Slade said as he closed the door. "There's no shame in it." With no hesitation, he walked over and put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Are you okay, Rose?" he asked.

The woman nodded, glumly. "Been a long time since I tasted the sting of a Taser," she said, sighing. "It sucks just as bad now as it did back then."

"Well, a Taser's always designed to suck," the merc said, chuckling. "That's why frightened sheep buy them. They think it'll save their ass. Truth is, most people just end up zapping themselves with it, either by accident or because they're bored."

Rose giggled. "I think you'd have to be pretty damn bored to stick yourself with a Taser," she said.

The two shared a moment of silence, a bonding moment between father and daughter.

"Did you see the look in his eyes when you threw him up against the wall?" Rose said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "He thought you were about to kill him. To be quite honest, I thought you were about to as well."

Slade let out a low growl. "He's a piece of shit, but he's not worth it," he said, pulling his pistol from its holster and checking it over. Force of habit from so many years as a merc. "Besides, letting out gunshots in this neighborhood would sort of defeat the purpose of remaining hidden."

"You have a point," the woman said, leaning back. "I applaud your restraint."

"Well, I'm not a god, am I?" Though Rose could not see her father's face, she knew that he was hiding a smile behind that mask.

"So, are you heading out tonight?" she asked, fully aware that only one Titan remained in the way of Slade's revenge against Grayson.

"One more job, then Grayson's mine," Slade said, firmly. "Once he's gone, the city will be free of his bureaucratic bullshit, and we'll be able to go anywhere in the world – anywhere we damn well please."

"I hear Greece is beautiful this time of year," Rose said, smirking. "And we could learn about some _real _gods."

Once again, that laugh emanated from her father. "Why don't you check some ticket prices on Hot Wire while I'm gone?" he suggested jokingly.

"I just might," his daughter said back, teasingly.

With that, Slade slipped out the front door, leaving Rose to wonder exactly where in the world they could live in peace. Perhaps it wasn't such a small world after all.

* * *

As work went on as usual at the Titan City Financial Advisory Corporation, the CEO's office was darkened. It wasn't, however, because the owner himself wasn't in.

Abraham Dukakis sat in his office, his head hung in shame. All he had done was to try and give one of his employees a little bit of 'motivation', and it had damn near cost him his life. Whoever that man was, he was trouble. But he dare not go back and face him again, especially after what he had said.

The man was in the middle of contemplating sending his boys down to deal with the problem when there was a knock at his door.

"Mr. Dukakis?" a voice came through from the other side.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice bearing a defeated tone.

"Sir, there's a gentleman here to see you," the voice said. "He says he wants to speak with you about the incident you had with Ms. Wilson earlier today."

The man's head shot up. No one else had known about the situation but himself and his aide, excluding the other party involved. How could news have travelled so quickly?"

"S-Send him in," he stuttered as he turned on the lights, unsure of who was about to come through the door.

As the door opened, a figure stepped into view of Abraham Dukakis. This figure, however, needed no introduction…

"M-Mr. Grayson!" the man stammered as Dick stood before his desk. "It-it's an honor to meet you face-to-face!" The little man stood up quickly, and offered his hand. Grayson took it, and they shook. "Please, take a seat. You want a drink or something?"

The CEO smiled. "Sorry, but I don't plan on being here too long," he said, quietly.

Dukakis nodded, his forehead visibly covered in sweat. "Very well," he said. "What can I do for you?"

Grayson sniffed, and straightened his jacket. This office looked very similar to his executive washroom, albeit in a much worse condition. The main exception was that the turd in front of him hadn't quite made it to the toilet. "I received a call from your aide earlier today that you were attacked by an unknown figure while visiting the home of one of your employees," he said, firmly. "That employee, if I am not mistaken, is one Rose Wilson, correct?"

"Yes, she is," Dukakis said, wondering why his own trusted aide would be sending messages to Dick Grayson and making a mental note to 'discuss' it with him later. "I hired her a few months back to write up financial reports. I was simply stopping by to remind her that I had not received last week's report as of yet."

"I see," Grayson said, quietly. "So, do you regularly assault your employees physically, or did you make a special trip just for Ms. Wilson?"

Dukakis's jaw fell open. Seemed like what everyone had said was true: Dick Grayson _did _know everything that went on in Titan City. "I-I-I…" he stammered, unable to find the words to explain his actions.

Grayson silenced the man with a wave of his hand. "I don't need to hear it," he said sternly. "I honestly don't care how you deal with your employees. That's no concern of mine. What I do have a concern about, however, is the description of the man who attacked you."

The little man put his hands on his hips, and sighed. "Look, I don't know how much I can help you," he said, sadly. "I didn't even get to see the guy's face. It was hidden behind some kind of mask."

At the mention of the word 'mask', Grayson's eyes widened. "A mask?" he asked, quietly. "What did the mask look like?"

Dukakis grimaced. "Well, it was half black and half orange," he said. "The strange thing was I couldn't see an eyehole in the black part of the mask."

"That's because he doesn't have one," Grayson muttered to himself.

"What?" the man asked, confused.

"Never mind." The businessman smiled again. There was only one more piece of the puzzle to unlock. Then, he would be ready to answer Slade's charge. "Mr. Dukakis, would you mind giving me Ms. Wilson's address?"

* * *

The water rained down onto the floor of the shower, the impact making a constant pitter-patter sound that resonated throughout the bathroom. The water had long gone cold from the consistent running, but the icy temperature had yet to awake the shower's lone occupant from her drug-induced slumber. At least, not for a few more moments…

Starfire's eyes shot open, a gasp emitting from her mouth as she regained consciousness in the frigid water. Goosebumps ran down her arms and legs as her body finally felt the cold penetrate into her mind. How long had she been out? Maybe in her younger days she could have ball parked a time. Now, it could have been either Thursday a week from now or the middle of last week. Time no longer had a meaning in the Tamaranean's life. Then, again, her life didn't have too much meaning in itself…

Slowly, and with great difficulty, the woman pulled herself to her feet. Her hands clumsily gripped the handles, finally shutting off the flow of the freezing water. Sliding open the glass partition, she gingerly stepped out onto the carpet in front of the shower. For anyone else, exiting a shower would be a simple task, but Starfire was on Cloud 9, her body swaying back and forth as she stumbled out into the hallway. She grabbed a towel from off the floor. Chances are it was dirty, but probably cleaner than the other ones. Cleanliness was not high on the woman's list of priorities, as the once-glamorous apartment looked like the city dump. Fitting, since its' resident had deteriorated to nothing more than trash herself.

After drying her body and hair hap-hazardly, Star dropped the towel back onto the floor. No use putting it up somewhere. She'd probably forget where it was the next time she needed it. With that, she clothed herself in an old tank top and a pair of panties that was intact – for the most part. The bedroom looked as if a tornado had stopped by to catch up on things, with clothes and belongings scattered every which way. In truth, it didn't look much different from when Beast Boy had stopped in last…whenever that was. Star's mind was so clouded by this point in her life that names, places, time – all of it, it all meant nothing to her. Somewhere in that mind she was aware of the fact that BB had a name, a name he was going by now, but for the life of her she could not recall what it was. Cyborg's funeral, Grayson's betrayal, Raven's health – it all seemed a distant memory now, with only snippets remaining. It was like looking at a photo album but being unable to recall the events that led up to each picture. This was the life Starfire, the former Teen Titan, knew now. The only thing that she could hold onto was the memory of Robin, the boy she left in love with, the boy who had comforted her and accepted her with open arms, the boy who had stroked her flesh with such intensity as to bring a smile to her face. Where was he now? Where was that boy she had loved all those years ago?

Reaching the foot of the bed, she slowly sunk down to the floor, her back up against the box spring. She could feel the pain again, the pain of her life seeping through the cracks. It was beginning to eat away at her conscience, reminding her of something bad, something that had nearly destroyed her. Slowly, she reached up over her head to the top of the mattress. Time to make the pain go away.

Her hands groped wildly, feeling every inch of the surface for the cure. As muddied as her mind was, she was almost certain that she had left it here, sitting right on the edge of the bed, just waiting for her. Where could it have gone?

A shudder uttered from her lips as she got to her knees, her eyes trying to focus in the dim light of the room as she continued to move things out of her way, trying to find the one thing that would make everything feel all right.

"No, no, no, no…" she mumbled to herself, feeling her mind begin to clear ever so slightly. Whatever had been in there had been horrible enough to turn her, a powerful Tamaranean princess, into a hallowed-out junkie. Whatever it was, she could not face it alone. She would not face it. She had to keep it away, hide it deep within her being. Time was running out as her breathing became erratic. "Please…not now. I can't bear it…"

"Looking for this?" a voice projected from the darkness. Deep inside her damaged, battered brain, Starfire recognized that voice. It was the only one that seemed to break through the clouds, stronger than even Robin's could have been…

Turning slowly, the woman felt back into a sitting position as she noticed a dark figure standing in the doorway. The dim light could not hide the orange paint that had been applied to the mask. Even from the black hole that had become Starfire's memory, that visage had never disappeared.

"Slade…" she breathed, her voice nearly as monotonous as the merc's. She sat in silence, taking in the sight before her. Suddenly, her eyes widened. Sitting on his outstretched palm was a small object, its' end shining in the dim light.

A syringe.

"Please," she moaned, pitifully, "give that back. I need it."

Slade's eye hardened beneath his mask. "No, you don't," he said, calmly. "I purposely took this while you were passed out in the shower. I want to make sure you have a clear head on your shoulders for our little…conversation."

Star shook her head violently, tears rolling from her eyes. "You don't understand," she cried, her voice cracking. "That's the only thing that makes me feel alive. If you take that away, I'll die!"

"You're dying anyway, so what should it matter?" the merc said, coldly. "As for 'feeling alive'…well, if you consider not being able to see the forest for the trees, then I guess you could call it being alive."

Starfire watched as Slade approached her, kneeling down only a few feet from her face. It seemed that he wanted a word with her, and as long as he had the cure, he had her attention.

"Tell me something, Starfire," the merc began, his voice methodical and hypnotizing, "when was the last time you remembered anything from your life outside of this decrepit pigsty?

The Tamaranean shuddered as her need kicked in. Her mind was opening back up, giving her bits and pieces of the life she had led before, a life that she desperately wanted to escape from. "I…I don't know," she said, quietly. "All I can remember is Robin, my friends…and you."

"Well, then I guess you have everything wrapped up in a nice little package," Slade said, balancing the syringe on his palm. He knew well enough that Starfire's reflexes were shot, and she couldn't have taken it from him if he had placed it right in front of her nose. "No regrets, correct? Ready to go on into the afterlife?"

Starfire didn't speak. Her eyes were trained on the drug cradled inside the merc's palm.

"Hey!" Slade said, snapping the fingers on his other hand in order to get her attention. "Are you listening to me?"

As Starfire looked deep into his eye, the merc realized something, something he was not expecting. The light in the former Titan's eyes, the spark of life, had long since been extinguished. Nothing mattered to her anymore, nothing but the memories of the man who loved her – the same man who would have his life ended by his hand. Seeing that this approach was becoming futile, he opted to try a different direction.

"You…disappoint me, Star," he said, slowly. "No fight left in you, no defiance, nothing. At least your friends died standing on their feet."

It was subtle, but Slade noticed it. Starfire's eyes had widened. Her friends…dead? That's the question those eyes had asked. The merc needed to buy some time. Her mind was clearing, and she would soon obtain total recall.

"I assume you didn't know?" he asked, his tone shifting to a patronizing one. "Understandable. You probably don't have the dexterity in your fingers to operate a remote control in your current state, let alone understand what the screen is telling you, so let me be the one to break the news to you: Raven and Beast Boy are dead."

Memories began flowing from the cracks in Starfire's mental shielding. The memory block was slowly falling down, brick by brick. "Raven…she…she had cancer…" she muttered, shaking her head.

"Yes, she did," Slade agreed. "But that's not what took her life."

The Tamaranean locked eyes with the merc. It was dim, but the light was starting to burn again. Just a little more time. "You?" she asked, blinking her eyes as her life began coming back.

The merc nodded. "Yes," he said. "Beast Boy, too. And his wife…"

"Kate…" Starfire finished. She was aware of Beast boy having married. In fact, she had been a bridesmaid at the reception. Strange – it was all so familiar, but the memories still seemed so alien to her. Her eyes blinked again as she saw a flash of a graveyard, a lone casket sitting in the field. A funeral for a friend, she surmised, but who? The answer seemed to escape her, though it sat right in the tip of her tongue…

"You're the next on my list," Slade's voice echoed into her brain. "The last before I take him…"

Cyborg. It had been Cyborg's funeral. Beast Boy had found him dead of an apparent stroke, and they had gathered to give their farewells. But there had been violence, so much violence and hostility, all seeming to stem from the arrival of one man, someone who the other heroes had harbored so much anger and disrespect for. She could she him now, a tall man with long black hair…so familiar, yet so mysterious…but those eyes, the eyes held something, a dark secret that only he could handle…

Slade leaned in closer. The fire was burning again, threatening to rage out of control. Her mind was in full gear, trying to piece together her life, all of which was leading back to the incident that she had sought to forget all those years ago. "Can you see it yet, Starfire?" he said, firmly. "Can you see what led you to this life?"

The Tamaranean's eyes were tearing up, her mind on the brink. Just one more piece, and the puzzle would be complete…that man, the tall dark-haired man, the man who brought so much hatred, so much that even Beast Boy – no, Garfield Logan, had hatred in his eyes…

_Grayson. Dick Grayson...Nightwing._

"No, no, no, no," Star cried, tears running down her face. "Please, no…He killed them…He killed them all…" The truth had finally reemerged from the former Titan's shattered mind: The boy she loved had become the man the world hated, the man who had wiped the blood of the dead across her body in an act of defiance, the one who had broken her heart, and left her an empty shell of who she used to be.

Slade sat in silence, watching as the woman broke down in sobs, her body shaking in grief. Everything had come rushing back, all the memories that she had tried to hide away for all those years in a pitiful attempt to move on with her life. For him, he felt no sympathy towards her. Those who could not break free of the past and make themselves stronger because of it meant nothing to him.

"Now you see," he said, mockingly. "You see what Nightwing really is. The boy you loved died that day in that bank alongside all those people, but you refused to see the truth. Instead, you chose to bury it deep within yourself, as if it would somehow disappear, as if the world would forget what he did and you could have your life back. But that didn't happen, did it? Grayson chose to bury _you_, to forget about _you_, to focus on becoming the most powerful man in the city."

The merc cocked his head to the side as the Tamaranean's sobs rescinded. "Tell me, with all the money he puts into that little account of yours, the fact that pays the rent for this apartment and keeps you in the best mind-fucking drugs money can buy, has he ever come to see you? Did he ever call? Has he ever once said that he loves you?"

Starfire looked up at Slade, her tear-streaked face somber. He didn't even need an answer to know the truth.

"That's…unfortunate…" he said, slowly. "Did you ever once consider that he's giving you all of this because he's trying to get rid of you? To keep buried the secret that the one woman the world thought he could ever love was now a dried-out junkie with deluded visions of the pasts that he hoped would wither away and die so he could gain even more sympathy from the mindless drones of this city?" Slade leaned in until his face was mere inches away from her's. "Did you ever once think that you were just a tool to him?"

Starfire's bottom lip quivered. She didn't want to believe it, but her now-clear mind understood Slade's words. There was no other explanation…

Toppling forward to the floor, the woman began sobbing again. Slade stood up, looking down at her wracked form. Slowly, he pulled his pistol from its holster. It was time.

"Starfire, look at me," he said, firmly. The woman did not respond. "LOOK AT ME!" he said, louder. This time, Star raised her head. She was down on her hands and knees like a dog, her tear-filled eyes seemingly empty despite the fire that had burned just mere minutes before. If this wasn't a mercy killing, Slade wasn't sure what was.

"You were a hero once," he said, quietly. "So were your friends. None of you would allow anything in your life to tear you apart. But Grayson did just that. He left you all with tattered memories and unanswered questions. But Raven and Beast Boy were different than you. They accepted their deaths gracefully. They seemed to know what was about to happen, what I had planned for Grayson for all the lives he took. But you…you're down on your knees, pitifully hoping that something is going to come along and make things all better, and if you can't find something like that, then life isn't worth living. You're not ready to die – you just _want_ to die. Well, I can accommodate you."

There was a moment of silence as the merc and the former Titan stared deep into each other's eyes. Slowly, deliberately, Slade slid the pistol back into his holster, and straightened up.

"I could accommodate you," he said, quietly, "but I won't. You don't deserve this bullet. Heroes are supposed to go out fighting, not begging."

The mercenary opened his palm, letting the syringe roll off onto the floor right in front of Starfire. "I'm not going to kill you after all," he said, turning towards the door. "You're already dead…on the inside."

A moment later, he was gone.

The Tamaranean looked down at the needle on the floor before her. Slowly, she picked it up. It seemed Slade had left her with a choice, the choice to live with the truth or return to her Wonderland of the past. Only she could make this decision.

Closing her hand around the syringe, she closed her eyes. The choice had been made, and she would have to live with it.

* * *

Rose had just put the last plate in the strainer when her father walked through the front door. His demeanor was the same, but he seemed a little on edge…well, more so than usual.

"Hey, Dad," she said, smiling slightly. "Is it done?"

Slade looked at his daughter. It was hard to tell, but he seemed rather upset for a cold-blooded mercenary. "Yeah, it's done," he said quietly.

What that, the merc walked into the garage, unloading his weapon as he did so. His mind was rather bothered by the scene he had witnessed at Starfire's apartment. Granted, none of the former Titans had walked away unscathed by Grayson's betrayal, but Star had been decimated by the loss. Perhaps she cared far more for him than even Grayson knew. If he had opened his eyes and saw the girl for whom she was instead of being a selfish bastard, maybe 'The Crusade' hadn't happened. Then again, if he had never battled Robin, perhaps he would have opened his eyes to see how much she loved him.

As he pulled off his shirt, Slade contemplated the tangled web that he had woven with the Titans. His influence in their lives had been just as significant as Grayson's. All of them bore scars, mentally if not physically, from the relationship they had shared. Fitting that all of them would go down like this, at the hands of the one man who quite possibly might be the only hope the city had to escape the former Titan's death grip. He just hoped it wasn't too late…

* * *

Rose had just changed into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top for bed when she heard a rustling sound from outside her window. Stepping back out into the living room, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was seriously wrong.

"Dad?" she called out, a tinge of anxiety in her voice.

The merc emerged from the darkness of the garage, closing the door as he did so. "What is it, Rose?" he asked. No sooner than he stepping into the living room, he could feel it. The noises outside weren't just random occurrences. It was the sound of trained feet hitting the ground, of high-tech weaponry being cocked. If he were in a delusional state like the drug was capable of placing him, Slade could have sworn he was having a flashback. But this was no memory…this was real.

"Dad, what the hell is going on?" Rose asked, breathlessly.

Slade opened his mouth to answer, but his attention was drawn to a sudden bright light shining through the house's windows. Only one thing left…

* * *

"GET DOWN!" Slade roared, pushing his daughter behind the recliner as machine gun fire ripped through the windows of the building, coating the floor with a layer of shattered glass. Quickly, the merc took refuge behind the end of the couch and looked across the room at his daughter, who was in a defensive position.

"Dad, what the fuck was that?!" she hollered over the gunfire.

Slade knew. The only question he had was how they had found him.

"Mercenaries," he said. "An army of them."

The two sat helplessly as the front wall of the house was blown in. The building had been breached, and it wouldn't be long until the mercs were on top of them. Rose acted quickly. As her father watched, she pushed the recliner up a little bit further, revealing a hidden floor safe that had been placed just below. Opening it, she pulled two H&K MP-5's from the depths of the safe and tossed one to Slade.

"Hmm," the merc said, somewhat surprised, "I thought you were retired."

"Yeah, I am," Rose said, smiling as she cocked the weapon. "Doesn't mean I don't remember how."

"Touché," Slade said, cocking his own.

With their nerves on full overload, the two former gunslingers sat in silence as the first wave of mercenaries entered the house. Their movement was deliberate and slow, canvassing the building for any signs of resistance. Little did they know that they had just stepped into a hornet's nest.

"Keep your eyes peeled," one of the black-hooded figures said in a hushed whisper. "They say this guy is a one man army."

'You have no idea, little boy,' Slade thought to himself as the half dozen trained killers searched the living room. Glancing over at Rose, he nodded in the direction of the mercs. Silently, the woman nodded back. It was time.

* * *

One black hood hit the floor as Slade and Rose opened up on the merc team, struck in the head and chest by the first wave of bullets. His death shielded the other hoods, which quickly ducked down and returned fire. Despite the size of the room, the bullets had little success hitting any decent targets.

Rose dropped back behind the recliner, bullets ripping through the top of the chair. Her heart was racing, and her eyes were clear. All the drugs she had been on had paled in comparison to the one she had tried to cover up. The only reason it had worked was because she was trying to keep it from overtaking her system. Now, however, the fury of the Ravager ran through her blood once again, and it felt good. She could feel the anxiety flowing out of each one of the mercs, smell their sweat as they sat behind their cover, and hear the blood literally pumping within their veins as adrenaline worked through their systems. It was an amazing feeling, to know so much from the simple mechanics of the human body. This is what her father felt all the time. This was why he was so feared in the world and equally as respected.

Slade had let loose with another burst of gunfire when he heard the sound of grappling hooks swinging through the air, its whooshing sound ending in a metallic CLANK on the second floor of the building. He knew what was comin next…

"ROSE!" he yelled, willing to sacrifice himself to gunfire for this outburst. "They're going up on the second floor! They're after the kids!"

"Shit!" Rose cried. She leaned out towards the stairway – only to be driven back by a wave of bullets. "I can't move, Dad! I'm pinned down!"

"I'll give you some cover fire!" the merc said, firmly. "Get ready! As soon as I open up, break for the stairs!"

"Gotcha!" the woman said.

With little hesitation, Slade popped up from behind the couch, laying down a sweeping arc of bullets across the room. Rose took her chance and sprung from her position, ascending the stairs two at a time. With his daughter out of the line of fire, the merc took cover again under a hail of gunfire. Until Rose came back down, all he had to focus on was surviving. As a bullet ripped out near his head, he surmised that doing just that might be easier said than done.

* * *

Rose approached the second doorway to the left with caution. Her children had been put to bed a few hours ago, but she could hear the sounds of whimpering and crying from behind the door. Malcolm might have been able to sleep through a hurricane, but not a fierce gun battle.

Slowly, the woman dropped to her knees and peered under the door. The room was still dark, with only the nightlight near the door providing any illumination. They hadn't breached the room…yet.

Recovering herself, Rose quietly opened the door. Glancing inside, she could barely make out the outline of Catlin's bed.

It was empty. Fear gripped her throat, but only for a moment. She had been a little frightened girl once, and there was one good place to hide when you're than young…

"Catlin?!" she whispered loudly. Catlin?! Are you under the bed?"

Silence for a moment. Then, there was a rustling of the sheets as the seven-year-old emerged from under the furniture.

"Mommy, is that you?" Catlin said panicky, her eyes filled with tears. "I heard loud noises downstairs, and I got scared. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, honey," Rose said, quickly. "Come on, grab your brother and let's go. We can't stay here."

"But why?" the girl asked.

Rose growled under her breath. This was not the time for that line of questioning. "Because I said so," she said, sternly. "Now, grab Malcolm and get over here. We don't have much ti-!"

The woman was cut off as the windows of the room were shattered by the hardened stocks of the mercenaries' weapons. They had breached the room, and she had precious little time. Without thinking, the woman charged across the room and scooped up her daughter in her arms. She had barely enough time to dive back out into the hallway before bullets peppered the wall directly in front of the door.

"Mommy, who are these bad men?!" Catlin said, crying.

"Just shut up!" Rose barked. The drug had made her on edge, and she was quite possibly on the verge of another psychotic episode. Smiling grimly, she was glad she actually had someone to take it out on who deserved it.

"Ms. Wilson." The woman heard her name being called from inside the room. Seemed that the mercs knew exactly who they were dealing with. But who could have given up their location? Her father had been as discrete as an undercover spy. In fact, the only incident that could have blown his cover was…

Rose let out a groan. "Fucking Dukakis," she growled. "He must have squealed to someone."

"Ms. Wilson, we know you're there," the voice said, almost tauntingly. "I also believe that we have something you want."

Those final words drove a cold spike deep into the woman's heart. She knew exactly what they were talking about.

"Malcolm," she shuddered.

Peering out into the room, Rose could see the three-year-old standing in the middle of the room. Directly behind him was a four-man group of mercs, their faces hidden by black masks. One of them, the apparent leader of the squad, was positioned directly behind the child. The boy was so innocent, so oblivious to the danger than threatened his very being.

"Ms. Wilson, why don't you come out and say hello to your son?" The voice spoke quietly, almost as if to egg her on.

"Let him go," Rose demanded, her finger on the trigger. "You want me, you can have me. Just…let the children go."

Fighting back every impulse in her body, the woman stood up and stepped into the doorway, exposing herself to possible gunfire. Her hands were up in the air, the gun slung over her shoulder by its strap. If her death would guarantee the safety of her children, she would take it without complaint.

"I'm right here," she said, her voice beginning to crack as the drug in her system slowly subsided. "Just…just take me and let him go."

The merc let out a small chuckle. "We plan on taking you down," he said, no doubt smirking behind his mask. "But we have our orders, and our client had some very specific instructions that he wanted us to follow."

The merc bent down, and looked at Malcolm. "Hey, buddy," he said, calmly, "why don't you say hello to Mommy here?"

The little boy looked at Rose, and waved his right hand wildly, smiling as he did so.

"You see," the lead merc said, straightening back up. "The one thing our client wants is for none of you leave this house…alive."  
It all happened so quickly. The merc made a move, the glint of metal shining in the dim light of the bedroom. A loud POP went off, like the sound of a firecracker dropped down a chimney.

Rose watched in a stunned silence as the little boy pitched forward and onto the floor of the room, the bullet of a .45 buried deep within his brain. Poor kid never had a chance to play on the jungle gym or face the anxiety of the first day of school. Malcolm Wilson was three years old, and now…he was dead.

A scream tore from the lips of the woman as she grabbed the gun, pulling the trigger with every muscle in her hand. The mercs quickly split up, taking refuge wherever they could.

As they returned fire, Rose leaped out into the hallway – where her daughter sat, terrified. She had never seen her mommy like this before, and it scared her.

"Mommy, stop!" she cried. "You're scaring me!"

"Catlin!" the woman screamed, gripping the child's hand with inhuman force. "Move!"

The girl protested as her mother dragged her down the hall. Whatever had happened to her mom was frightening her, and she was afraid that she would hurt her next. "Mommy, quit!" she cried, tugging on her hand. "I don't wanna go!"

"Catlin, shut the fuck up!" Rose was in full survival mode. She didn't care if her daughter was angry or frightened of her in this state. All she cared about right now was getting her out of the house. Everything else came second…

The woman stumbled as a bullet tore through the upper bicep of her left arm, causing her and Catlin to fall to the floor. Spinning around, Rose leapt to her feet as the four mercs darted down the hall towards her. Glancing around, she realized that she had fallen near the stairway. But where was her daughter?  
Looking back, Rose saw her daughter on the floor mere feet from the mercs. Quickly, she raised the gun and pulled the trigger. CLICK. The mechanism had jammed. Frantically, the woman slammed on the side of the gun, trying to dislodge the offending shell casing. With a massive THUD, she managed to knock the casing out. With little time, she took aim again – only to see the four killers standing over her daughter. With no hesitation, the mercs let loose a five–round burst from each gun, the lead ripping straight through the child's frame and embedding itself deep within the floorboards. No mercy, no forgiveness, just plain brutality – the way a mercenary was supposed to be. The only thing they ever felt was recoil. Whether they killed a trained warrior or a seven-year-old girl, it was all the same. Getting paid was the only thing they cared about. Tonight had proven that belief.

* * *

Rose stood in shock, her eyes tearing up as she watched the blood slowly pool out from under her daughter's body. Her heart felt as if it had dropped deep into a black hole. Everything she had cared about in her life was gone, taken away from her in the blink of an eye. No reason to live anymore. Might as well let them kill her, too…

'No,' a voice resonated deep within Rose's mind. She recognized it as her own, only much younger…_The Ravager._ It was speaking to her, almost beckoning to her. 'This is not how you die, not like a clay pigeon waiting for the end. If you do die today, it will be in a blaze of gunfire - something fitting for the daughter of the greatest mercenary alive. Now, DO IT!'

As the mercs turned their attention back on Rose, they were met with a wave of gunfire. Try as they might, there was nowhere to run, and two dropped to the floor dead. The others tried to return fire, but the woman had flung herself back, dropping down the stairway with grace. Within a moment, she was gone.

* * *

Slade ducked as another round of lead came his way. Feeling the weight of the weapon in his hand, he knew that he was running out of ammo. Chance were he had one more good burst left in it, and he had to use it wisely.

'I need to get to the garage,' he thought, glancing over at the door. It was only ten feet away, but with six killers watching your every move it might as well have been a mile.

Cocking his head, he listened for one thing, one sound that would give him the right moment to strike: the sound of a gun being reloaded. It was coming. At least one of the mercs would take advantage of the momentary cease-fire and reload. Just have to wait.

CHIK-CHIK. There it was.

Slade stood, and let loose one more burst, driving the mercs to the floor. Quickly, he sprinted across the floor and took refuge behind the wall – only to see his daughter come flying down the stairs guns blazing! As she hit the floor, she slid back into place behind the recliner.

"Rose, where are the kids?" the merc asked.

"They're gone!" Rose said, fiercely as tears rolled down her face. "They're here to kill us all! They didn't even spare them!"

Slade closed his eye. He was afraid of this. These mercenaries had been instructed to eliminate all the occupants of the house. Even more so, he was at fault for this. If he hadn't brought them into this, maybe they would have been left alone. Then again, if they wanted him, they would have gone after Rose and her children anyway just to draw him out.

Slade realized at that moment the grim truth: Someone had played him. Someone had taken advantage of the incident that had occurred between him and that little fat man to find out Rose's location and had the funds to order such a hit. But who? The answer escaped him for the moment. Right now, the only thing he could focus on was keeping Rose and himself alive.

"Rose, come on!" he shouted, gripping the doorknob of the garage door. "We have to go!"

The woman quickly got to her feet, and rolled across the gap between the chair and the couch. Quickly, she ran towards her father. She was so close, she swore she could almost touch his hand…

Rose stumbled as she felt something impact with her back. A wave of pain tore through her being. No sooner than she had steadied herself she felt another round rip through the back of her chest, cutting a path across one of her lungs and her liver. Slowly, she came to a stop, her body simply refusing to move forward anymore. She coughed violently, and felt the warm blood spill from her lips. Being shot was something she though she could handle. As she collapsed to the floor, she realized that she might have gotten more than she had bargained for.

* * *

"ROSE!" Slade yelled as he watched his daughter fall to the hardwood floor mere feet from his position.

The outburst allowed the merc nearest the door a moment to plan an attack.

Slade looked down at the floor as a small object bounced into place just in front of him. His eye widened. A pulse grenade.

The explosion sent a shockwave through the house, flinging the mercenary through the door of the garage and slamming him into the side of Rose's car. Gasping, he could feel the shrapnel that had embedded itself deep within his bare chest. Part of his mask has been blown away as well, and his dark hair fell out from under its hood. It had been a perfect shot, made possible by his own mistake.

Blood slowly oozed from his wounds as Slade slid down, his body laying prone on the floor of the garage. It was over. The game had been played against him, the mysterious opponent playing his endgame before he had decided to strike. For all of his skill, his toughness, and his tenacity, Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the Terminator, had failed to even protect his own daughter and her children. Some fucking parent he had turned out to be.

"Rose…" he stammered as blood dripped from beneath his mask, "forgive me…"

Then, came the darkness.


	11. Threshold

Rose laid out on the floor, gasping for air as her damaged lung collapsed. Her mind ran wild as she stared at the hole in the garage door where her father had been standing mere moments before. He had taken the brunt of the grenade's blast to his face and chest. There was no way he could have survived.

The woman's blood-stained teeth ground together as she managed to roll over onto her back, ignoring the pain that lanced through her chest. If she was going to die, she would look them in the eyes as they killed her, just so they knew she was not a frightened woman but a former vigilante who could face death head-on.

The surviving mercs surrounded the woman. They were quite pissed that some aging former hero could take out three of their men, regardless of her past. This was supposed to be an easy mission, not a fight for survival. As they stood over her prone form, a voice crackled out over the radio, teeming with static.

"Sit rep, now!" the voice rattled out. Rose surmised that it belonged to the lead merc, the one who had been hired to kill them all in the first place. He was outside the house somewhere, keeping tabs on his men while watching for the arrival of the police. Almost any neighborhood would be on the phone with the cops the moment gunfire rang out. This suburb was no different. "Are the targets neutralized?"

One of the mercenaries grabbed his radio. "Almost done, sir," he relayed, looking down at the woman.

As he placed his radio back onto his belt, the hooded figure pulled his .45 from his holster. "Don't worry about your children, Ms. Wilson," he said, slowly as he cocked the gun. "You'll be with them again soon enough."

Rose let out a scream as two hallowpoints ripped through the front of her chest. The pain was immense, but only for a moment. Shuddering, she could feel the blood pour out from her damaged aorta and felt as her other lung collapsed. This was it, the final move in the game. Checkmate.

Rose's head rolled to the side. As her eyes closed for the final time, she swore that a tunnel of light was coming her way. Was it a truly a light, or just a freight train from Hell coming her way? She would know soon enough.

'Well, I'll be damned…' she thought as the light enveloped her.

* * *

The merc placed his gun back in his holster. The job was done, and now it was time to get paid. Reaching for his radio again, he practically smiled at what he was about to say.

"It's done, sir," he said into the radio. "The Wilsons are dead. Slade took a grenade to the face, and Rose has just been eliminated. Double tapped to the chest."

"What about the children?" The voice came in from the other side.

"Dead as well, sir," the merc said, confidently.

"Good," the lead mercenary said. "I think our client will be very pleased. Now, stand by while I make the call."

"Yes, sir," the merc said, giving a thumb-up to the rest of the team. It was Miller time.

* * *

Sitting a block away from the Wilson residence, a black hooded figure pulled a disposable cell phone from the breast pocket of his vest and dialed a pre-determined number. It rang for a few chimes before being picked up.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end was deep and metallic. Chances were that the person on the other end was using a voice synthesizer to disguise himself, the merc thought.

"It's done," he said, swiftly, knowing well that the person with whom he was speaking to was the one responsible for hiring him.

"All of them?" the voice asked.

"Yes," the merc said, firmly. "Half mil?"

"That's what was agreed upon," the deep voice replied. "I'll start the transfer now."

The lead merc quickly reached into his pants pocket, and produced a small PDA. AS he looked at the screen, he saw the authorized transaction to his secured account of $500,000 come to fruition.

"Transfer complete," the voice on the end of the line said.

"Package secured," the merc said, grinning. "I thank you for your business, Mr. Nosyarg."

* * *

In a posh office in the middle of Titan City, a conversation was coming to a close.

"You're welcome." The voice on the phone may have sounded like Satan himself, but the walls echoed the voice of a god.

As the phone call ended, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises leaned back in his chair, and smiled to himself.

"_Mr. Nosyarg_…" he said, laughing. "Wonder how long the feds'll take to figure that one out."

That name hadn't been the brainchild of the businessman. In fact, it had come from a time back in the days of the Teen Titans, when a strange error formed a portal to another dimension right in the living room of Titan Tower. It was then that they had been introduced to Larry the Titan, a pint-sized goofball whose purpose seemed only to mess up everything the Titans had planned. He had said when asked who he was that his real name was actually Kcid Nosyarg - a funny name in itself, but ultimately useful as had been proved tonight.

Kcid Nosyarg…the mirrored spelling of _Dick Grayson_.

Grayson laughed as he spun his chair around to gaze out into the night sky. The game was over. His money and influence had secured him the opportunity to hire the best trained killers in the world to eliminate Slade. He had known exactly where to send them thanks to that little sludge ball Dukakis. Half a million dollars for a job well done was practically pocket change to the businessman.

Sighing, Dick felt pretty good about himself. Sure, it had taken the death of the Titans to find where Slade was hiding, but it was all worth it. None of them had been worth anything anymore. They should have been happy to die for such a cause: to keep the Messiah alive so he could protect his beloved city. All in all, it had been a good night, and Grayson would sleep well. After all, the nightmare was over.

* * *

_Strange…I would have expected Hell to be much hotter._

Slowly, his eye opened. He had half-expected to see the towering infernos and boiling surfaces of the Underworld. After all, that's were murderers go. But instead, he only saw the outline of a busted door, only felt the cold and unforgiving surface of concrete beneath him and of steel behind him. This wasn't Hell…at least, not yet. For now, it was still Rose's garage.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear the cobwebs. How was it that he was still here? Maybe what he had done all those years ago was still working towards his advantage…

Suddenly, he sniffed the air. The smell of gasoline had filled his nose. '_They're going to burn it down_," he thought. '_Destroy all the evidence in the flames. Hmm…must be dealing with some quality mercs here. True bloodthirsty killers. Almost seems a shame…_"

The drug in his system was talking. It had been awoken by the fury that had occurred on that night, by the thrill of the kill and the rush of danger. But something else was burning inside of him as well. His mind continued to run the final scene he had witnessed prior to the explosion – that of Rose being gunned down. They had taken the only thing that was good in his life away from him, cut her down right before his eyes. Chances were they would still be on edge, ready for anything that came their way. If this was how it would end, if this was truly the final stand, he would make damn sure than none of them ever left this house.

Climbing to his feet, he smelled the smoke as it lingered in the air. The flames had begun to consume the house, and he heard the sound of footsteps as the mercs worked to retrieve their dead. It was a useless effort. No one would be coming for them.

Clumsily, he located his shirt, and pulled it over his damaged body. The bleeding had begun to subside. If he was lucky, he would have the strength for the upcoming fight. If not…well, he would take as many of them with him as he could.

The light from the flames began illuminated the garage through the gaping hole in the door, reflecting deep within his eye. Now it was Hell, and no one would be leaving the inferno alive.

* * *

The merc took his time pouring his can of gasoline, savoring the moment. This was one of his first jobs in quite a while, and it could be the last one for some time. No need to rush through it. The way the police responded in Titan City, they would be halfway to Aruba by the time they got there.

The can rattled as the last of the flammable liquid emptied from the container. He tossed it into the flames. No one was going to care. This place was going up like a book of matches. Looks like it was time to leave after all.

The merc was so enthralled by the prospect of payment that he didn't notice the thin wire that had looped down from the ceiling. He did notice, however, when it tightened around his neck and jerked him up into the air. Looks like he _was_ leaving – this life, that is.

* * *

Three of the mercenaries stood in stunned silence as their buddy was hoisted into the air, only to drop back to the floor a second later, his neck bloodied from the heavy-gauge wire.

"What the fuck was that?!" One of them shouted.

His answer came in the form of a masked figure that dropped from the ceiling, having used the anchor of the ceiling fan to keep him out of sight. But that was over now, as he stood among the flames of the ill-fated house like a demon from the depths of Hell.

It was time.

* * *

The first was always the easiest. He never seemed to know exactly what Slade could do, even though he had lived in fear of his prowess for his entire mercenary career. Producing a knife from his boot, he rushed in, trying to bury the blade deep with the legendary merc. Little did he know that all he was doing was running headlong to his death. A flick of the wrist knocked the blade from his hand, and a twist of the neck ended his life. Clean, precise, professional. The way it should be.

As the body fell against Slade, the other mercs opened fire with their sub-machine guns. Slade may have survived a devastating blast, but he was not bulletproof. However, much of the dead merc's body was, as it was clad in armor. Bullets sunk deep into the corpse as the merc used it as his cover. Survival by any means possible – that was his creed, and it had served him well over the years. No time to give up on it now.

As the rain of lead continued, Slade looked around. There were no weapons on the floor he could reach to retaliate. Suddenly, there was a flash of blacked steel in the light of the flames. The dead merc's gun was still slung over his holster. Perhaps if he had used it instead of coming in close, he might still be alive. Not too much he could do about that now.

The remained two mercs were stunned by the appearance of a sub-machine gun exploding out the stomach of their fallen friend – too stunned to react as a wave of gunfire ripped through their beings. Through the stomach of the newly-acquired meat shield, a bloodied hand gripped the weapon. Slade had put his most useful skill – improvisation – to work.

The sound of gunfire would no doubt attract the rest of the mercs. With everyone dead, there would have been no reason to let loose at all. Slade was counting on that to bring them out of hiding. His ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. 'Like lambs to slaughter', he thought.

The rest of the mercs were greeted by a wave of gunfire from the machine gun. Those who didn't hit the floor dead fired back – only to have the bullets embed themselves in the corpse hanging between Slade and them. They soon found themselves in a state of horror. Never in their career had they seen such violence and gore. Most of their jobs involved running into a house and dispatching political figures or revolutionaries. Sure, they usually had their own protection force, but they had never been a problem for them. Now they were fighting for their lives against one man – the man some claimed to be the greatest mercenary ever to live. Seemed like whoever had coined that phrase was right.

More bodies fell as Slade withdrew his hand from the corpse of the fallen merc. The last two were down to their sidearms, and one of them was too frightened to bother using it correctly. The other, however, was coming in hot and aiming straight for the merc's head…

BLAM! The bullet sailed across the living room as Slade spun out of the path. With no time to reposition, the doomed merc screamed as he felt his right knee shatter from the impact of Slade's kick. The next sensation was that of his own .45 being tucked right under his chin, followed by a loud explosion. Looks like he wasn't getting paid after all.

The last mercenary nearly pissed himself as he watched the back of his partner's head blow out form the shot. In desperation, he finally took aim at Slade and pulled the trigger.

TINK. The bullet ricocheted off the side of the merc's mask right under his eye. A definite method of gaining his attention – and the best method of pissing him off. With no hesitation, he grabbed one of the legs of the coffee table and wrenched it out, leaving the nails embedded in the wood. With his newly-acquired club, the mercenary slowly made his way over to his frightened opponent. Showing fear was a sign of weakness, and could be considered grounds for termination by any decent mercenary force in the world. Needless to say, 'termination' of a merc did not involve a pink slip – only a body bag. Looks like this guy was up on the block, and Slade would oblige him.

"No, no, no!" the hooded merc cried, scooting back on the hardwood floor as the building slowly burned to ashes around him. "There's no need for this! I didn't choose to kill them! I was just doing my job!"

"So am I," Slade said, firmly.

The tremor of impact rattled up the merc's arm as he slammed the club hard on top of final killer, driving the pointed tips of the nails deep into his brain. In his final moments on the planet, the young man under the hood had finally gotten the 'point'.

* * *

Slade stood among the flames that were tearing through his daughter's home. The heat was bad enough to ignite one's hair ablaze, but he was unmoved by it. His eye was downcast, slowly taking in the sight of Rose's prone form laying out on the wood floor. Two more rounds in her chest told him that she had survived the first onslaught of bullets, but likely would not have made it to any medical care center.

The merc closed his eye as he was awash with grief. He had done this to them. He had brought this upon her, on her children by seeking them out. If he had just stayed away, if he had just continued his course without involving them…

_Well, not too much you can do about that now…_

Slade's eye opened again. The drug in his system was speaking to him, almost mockingly. He had taken down many people in his life, and when he thought about how they could have survived, that answer had always come to him. All the people he had killed could have made it if they had done something else instead, but that knowledge had been simply too late to save them. But this…this was different. For the first time, it was he who had made the mistakes, he who had chosen to ignore the danger, he who harbored the 'what-ifs' of his decisions. All these years, he had been satisfied with that simple answer. Now, as he brought his hand down to close her eyes, he found that the same answer had been given to him. Was the drug that had made him into the greatest mercenary ever known also responsible for this, the death of his daughter and her children? Was it the drug that had robbed him of his humanity…or had he simply done this to himself? Was it his own callous nature, his egoism that had lead to this fatal road? Perhaps it was not the fact that the little fat man squealed to someone, or that that someone had set a kill squad after him. Perhaps, he had done this to himself. Perhaps he could have saved Rose all the pain by simply shooting her dead in the parking lot of that store along with Catlin and Malcolm.

_Well, not too much you can do about that now…_

"Fuck you!" Slade roared in the midst of the inferno. He was not about to accept that answer in regards to the death of his blood, his child. There was someone left to kill, someone whose death could avenge theirs: the lead mercenary, who no doubt by now had moved in to figure out what was taking his team so long. He would pay for spilling the merc's blood. He would die choking on his own, screaming in pain…

'No.' The voice in Slade's head snapped him out of his psychosis. 'He will die, but he has something even more important – the identity of the person who ordered the hit. Find out the truth. Then he can die.'

The merc sat in stunned silence for a moment. That had not been the voice of the drug speaking to him. It had been too calm, too collected, and too aware to be it. Had that been his conscience, the voice of reason on his own mind? Had that been the _real _Slade Wilson speaking to him? Perhaps he and Starfire were more alike than he knew. Both of them had an addiction, an addiction to a drug that altered their perception of reality. If that was true, then it could be said that Slade had been the pot calling the kettle black when he went on his little tirade. Perhaps he also was one who had an addiction and was too blinded to see it.

As the flames swirled around him, Slade realized that it had taken the death of his daughter to understand what it really meant to lose. Now he had truly felt what the villains of the past must have felt when Nightwing was coming for them, gunning down their companions with a sense of twisted glee. Maybe now he was truly ready to begin the endgame. Now, he had nothing left to lose.

Slowly, gently, the mercenary picked up Rose's body from the unforgiving floor. She felt warm in his arms, almost as if she was still alive and only sleeping. Gritting his teeth, her father knew that this was one sleep she would never awaken from. With uncanny agility, he rushed up the collapsing stairs, retrieving the bodies of the children…_his grandchildren_, he surmised, feeling the fury building back in his heart.

With a mighty leap, Slade soared over the ruined staircase and landed back on the hardwood floor. As the house began to collapse around him, the merc kicked out the front door, and emerged from the blaze. He could hear the sirens coming from around the block. They would be here soon.

Without a sound, he laid out the bodies of his daughter and her children on the cool damp lawn, the flames from the house projecting an eerie glow across the neighborhood. No time to say goodbye, but at least they would be found and taken care of, he surmised. They would be able to have an open-casket funeral instead of ending their days as charcoal form the flames. The merc team, on the other hand, would burn. They would burn now, and forever in the pits of Hell. That was to be certain.

Slade drew the body of his daughter to him, and gave her one last embrace. She would not be there to see the final stroke of his master plan, but she would witness it from above. All he could do was hope she would understand.

* * *

As the first fire truck pulled up to the blazing inferno, a lone shadow stood among the trees. He watched as the firemen approached the bodies on the lawn, and waved wildly to the driver of the ambulance had had pulled up mere moments before. The medics came to check on the bodies, only to discover that they were long gone. The coroner would be called, and the bodies taken to the morgue for autopsy.

The shadow bowed his head. He knew what would become of the three. They were safe now. With that done, the figure slipped back, disappearing into the shadows.

* * *

A block away from the flames, the lead mercenary watched as the emergency vehicles tended to the fire. Something had gone terribly wrong. The last communiqué he had from his team was that they were preparing to set the house ablaze and would be out momentarily. However, there had been some commotion that had quickened the pace of the local police and fire department. Now his men were nowhere to be seen.

"Where the fuck are they?" he muttered to himself, reaching for his radio. Before he could relay a message, however, he heard a voice project out from behind him.

"It's no use," it said. "They can't hear you now."

Spinning around, the lead merc pulled his pistol from its' holster – only to have it knocked away by the battle damaged Slade. His hand shot out, gripping the merc tightly by the throat.

"You son of a bitch…" Slade breathed, his eye wide with fury. "You killed my daughter and my grandchildren!"

The lead merc fell to his knees as the life was slowly being choked out of him. His eyes went wild with fear. Never before in his life had he been on the verge of death. Now he knew exactly what all his victims had felt like moments before he extinguished their flame.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you right now," Slade said, his voice a feral growl.

"It…it was nothing personal," the merc choked out, his hands desperately trying to break Slade's grip. "It was…just business."

"Not good enough," the legendary mercenary shot back. "I want an answer. Who hired you? Was it Abraham Dukakis?"

"N-n-no…" the merc wheezed.

"Then who?!" Slade shouted, tightening his grip.

"It-it was some Ukrainian nationalist," the merc said. "Said you and your daughter wronged him, and he wanted repercussions."

"Give me a name," Slade said, furiously. "I want his name."

The merc gurgled under the forceful pressure being applied to his neck. "Kcid," he said. "Kcid Nosyarg."

Slade's eye widened as he heard the name. It sounded nothing like any of the Ukrainians he had dealt with in his career.

"Kcid Nosyarg…"

The mercenary's grip loosed around the lead merc's neck, allowing him to fall to the ground as he gasped for air. The pieces fit perfectly. The only man who could afford to hire a mercenary team and have the influence to hide that fact from the inattentive morons who worshipped him. Despite it all, it seemed that he almost expected Slade to survive the onslaught; otherwise, why would he have employed such a simple ruse?

"Dick Grayson," he said. Grayson had hired the team. He most likely got Rose's address from Dukakis, giving him the exact place to send his death squad. If Slade had no reason to take revenge on the former Titan before, he certainly had one now. As he contemplated his next move, he watched as the lead mercenary got back to his feet.

"Give me the account number you had your funds transferred to," he said with a growl.

Fearful for his life, the broken merc handed over the PDA that he had used to secure the transaction. Slade took it and pocketed it.

"Is that it?" he asked. "Are we square?"

The answer came in the form of a loud POP and the impact of a slug to the center of his chest. As he looked up with a stunned expression, he saw the end of his own .45 smoking in Slade's hand.

"Nothing personal," he said, taking the newly-acquired weapon and placing it in his empty holster, "It's just business."

With a slight push, Slade laid out the lead merc, leaving him to bleed out on the sidewalk. His life was of no concern anymore. He had served his purpose. Now, all Slade Wilson had left was revenge. It was time to plan his endgame.

* * *

As Slade walked the quiet night streets of Titan City, he found himself awash in his memories, both from the early past and from a few hours before. Every person he had ever cared for in his life was gone. Many would think that for a trained killer, the loss of life would be something simple to deal with. But there was something that those who were not mercenaries would never understand: When you lose someone you care about, you feel _everything_. Once you opened your heart and had it damaged, there was no way you could become a killer again. You could not handle taking a life without feeling guilt for it. Now, the silence of the city served to remind Slade of all the lives he had taken over the years, and all the foolish and stupid reasons he had rationalized those deaths with. In truth, there was no reason anyone on the planet could come up with that could justify murder. It didn't matter if you were a merc or a former hero-turned-vigilante, murder was murder. As long as you lived, you would never be able to wash the bloodstains from your hands.

The mercenary shook his head, saddened by the state he was in. He hadn't shown it, but he had died a little inside with each Titan he had killed. Raven and Beast Boy had been so defiant, so strong, that he couldn't help but admire them for it. Perhaps it was that emotional trauma that had ultimately stopped him from killing Starfire. For the first time in many years, he had rationalized a reason _not_ to take a life. His career, his life as a killer was over. But it was more than that. As his mind flashed back to Rose's soulless stare, he knew that his life was over. Some how, he had hoped to rectify his past mistakes by being the father that she had never had – a real father, not a father who trains his daughter in the methods of death. But tonight had shattered that dream. He had nothing left, nothing to fall back on. Perhaps it was time to end the charade. Maybe it was time for Slade Wilson, for Deathstroke to finally die. But it wasn't that time. Yet.

Slowly, Slade approached one of the local payphones. Dropping in a few quarters, he dialed in a phone number he knew by heart.

"Hello?" a female voice spoke from the other end.

"It's me," he said quietly.

"It's been a long time, Slade," the voice said softly. "They said you were dead."

"I've been a lot of things," the merc said, leaning up against the payphone for support. "Right now, I'm in need of help. I need you…one last time."

* * *

The sun glistened through the office windows of Wayne Enterprises as Dick Grayson engaged in his work. A smile sat upon his face, and the air of superiority seemed to emanate from him. Last night had been the end of the nightmare that had plagued Titan City for nearly a week. Two dead Titans had been confirmed; the location of Starfire had not be uncovered as of yet. The apartment hey had shared all those years ago was trashed when the police searched it in a vain attempt to locate the former heroine. No matter, Grayson surmised. Slade had probably disposed of her accordingly.

Dick chuckled to himself. The merc had probably thought that killing Star would have had an impact on the former Titan's mind. Maybe if he had done this before 'The Crusade' it would have mattered. Now…she was just a shadow of days past, blissfully forgotten.

The businessman's train of thought was broken as the intercom speaker on his desk buzzed. "Mr. Grayson?" Isabelle's voice called.

"Yes, Ms. Winters?" he asked.

"Captain Zeddemore is here to see you," the secretary said.

"Send him in," Dick said.

Moments later, the door to the office opened, and Michael Zeddemore entered. One look at his face told the CEO that he was not in a particularly jolly mood.

"Michael, what can I do for you today?" he said with a smile.

Captain Zeddemore did not return the smile as he approached the desk. "You can start by telling me what the hell happened last night,' he said, sternly.

Dick gave the captain a befuddled look. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

Z sighed, shaking his head. "You're some piece of work, you know that?" he said, a disgusted tone in his voice. "I never thought you'd pull some crazy shit like this."

"What is it exactly that you're accusing me of?" Grayson said, leaning back.

Zeddemore leaned on the desk, his eyes staring hard at the businessman and the person whom he had called a family friend for many years. "There was a massive inferno on the outskirts of the city last night," he began. "Nice little suburban house on Kittredge and Washington went up like the Fourth of July. Everyone in the house died."

"That's a real shame," Grayson said, shaking his head, "but I don't see how you can involve me with that."

"I'm not finished," Zeddemore said. "The house was owned by one Rosemary Wilson, age 43. Formerly known as the Ravager, a vigilante hero and part-time Teen Titan, but I guess I didn't need to tell you that part. She had two kids: A seven-year-old girl named Catlin and a three-year-old boy named Malcolm. All three were found dead at the scene."

"How did they identify the bodies?" Dick asked. "I thought the house burned to ashes."

Zeddemore shook his head, a grim smile on his face. "Firefighters found the bodies lying out on the lawn about ten feet from the blaze," he said. "They were riddled with bullets. Most likely 5.56, probably MP-5's."

Grayson shifted in his chair. "That's terrible," he said. "A mother and her children gunned down in their own home, and left to die on the lawn? That takes a monster."

"I agree," Z said, straightening back up. "The rest of the bodies were pretty shot up, too."

The captain watched as the businessman's eyes widened. Looks like he didn't know that. His reaction actually made him smile.

"You didn't know?" he asked, pleasantly surprised. "I thought you knew everything. Anyway, it turns out that firefighters found about eight corpses in the blaze. The fire had rendered their features indistinguishable, but they were all armed to the teeth. My guess – mercenaries."

Zeddemore leaned back in, looking at Grayson as he did so. "Tell me, Dick," he asked. "What are the chances that a lone mercenary group just happened to stumble upon the home of the daughter of the greatest mercenary that ever lived and decided to kill her just for shits and giggles?"

"I'd say that chances are rather slim," the CEO said with a smirk. Then, his face hardened. "So what are you saying, Mike? That I hired a team of mercenaries to kill Rose Wilson and her family just for the hell of it?"

Z chuckled, shaking his head as he did so. "Oh, I don't think it would have been for the hell of it," he said as he stood back up straight. "Police investigating the scene found an arsenal of weapons located in Ms. Wilson's garage, including this little number…"

Grayson sat up as Zeddemore tossed a bagged pistol onto his desk. "What's this?" he asked, looking back up at the captain.

"That's the pistol that killed Rachel Roth," Z said, sadly. "It's also the pistol that killed Garfield Logan, his wife Kate, and has been traced back to numerous murders over the years." Zeddemore grinned. "That's Slade Wilson's pistol, and that was his arsenal. Convenient that the makeshift stronghold of your greatest enemy just went up in smoke last night."

Grayson took another look at the gun before him. With a sigh, he looked back up at the police captain. As he did so, a Cheshire Cat-like grin spread across his face.

"So, what do we do now, hmm?" he asked. "You going to take me in? You going to march me past all my workers and out the door where all my citizens can see me in handcuffs? How much you wanna bet that you don't even get me in the patrol car before you have a full-scale riot on your hands?"

Zeddemore knew that what Grayson was saying was the truth. He couldn't take him in without causing a scene. In addition, he had no evidence. Anything that he could have used went up in the flames.

"I guess you're right," he said, quietly. "That's why, as far as Gotham PD knows, Slade Wilson died in the fire. By the way, police found a body about half a block from the scene. Hooded figure, military outfit – probably the lead merc. He had been shot in chest. Strangely, they found a hard shell holder on his belt, probably for a PDA or a Smartphone. Trouble is it had disappeared."

Grayson smiled. "I didn't know you guys were so thorough," he said. "Remind me to hold another policeman's ball in the near future."

Z shook his head. "_We_ didn't take it,' he said, quietly.

Grayson looked back up, shock on his face. "Then, who?" he asked.

"I think you know that already," Zeddemore said, firmly. Gesturing towards the gun, he sighed. "That's for you," he said. "Little souvenir for all the lives you cost in your attempt to kill Slade."

"Z, listen…" Dick began.

"I don't wanna fucking hear it, okay?!" The captain's voice was harsh and filled with anger. "You sacrificed the lives of your former teammates in order to draw Slade out of hiding! You used them as bait! I had to stand by and watch as Garfield knelt over Rachel's body. Not long after, I had to watch as he and his wife were taken out of their homes under white sheets! God knows where Starfire is right now, but if she's lucky he killed her too instead of dragging it all out! I covered for you, and I watched good people die as a result of it!"

Zeddemore sighed, knowing that his words probably meant little to Grayson. "Do what you want, Dick," he said as he headed for the door, "'cause now you're on your own. I won't tell my dad what happened here today because I don't want to break his heart. As for you, I hope you do get what you want. I hope Slade comes for you – and when he does, I hope he kills you. This way, when you die, you know just how the other Titans felt."

With those final words, Michael Zeddemore left both his respect and his friendship with Grayson on the floor of the office as he slammed the door. Those final words resonated in the businessman, but not the way Z would have hoped. Slade was coming, and Grayson would have to be ready. Soon, the final battle would begin.


	12. White Knuckles & Ashes

As the sun slowly set on Titan City, Dick Grayson stood in his office. His eyes may have been looking out over his city, but his mind was occupied with the upcoming battle he knew was coming. With all the Titans out of the way and Rose dead, there was nothing to hold Slade back. He would be here tonight. For the first time in twelve years, Grayson felt the thrill of the kill. His heartbeat quickened as he imagined the final battle. All the training, the physical abuse he had put his body through in order to remain in top condition would be put to the test tonight. He was about to see if it was all he needed to defeat the greatest mercenary alive.

Wayne enterprises had already shut down for the day, but he was aware that Isabelle was still at the front desk. She had started leaving when he did. Perhaps she felt safer with him. More likely it was because she was enthralled with him. He was a powerful man and a looker, even at his age. If there was anything Bruce had taught him, it was how to be a playboy.

Dick laughed as he thought back on the events of nights prior. With Wayne dead and Grayson having been placed in such a high level in the company, it was only a matter of time until the board made him the CEO of the entire company. That call would come soon, he was sure of it. What would run through Slade's mind when he told him that after he died that Dick would become the most powerful man in the world? What would be his last thoughts as he was struck down?

Grayson's train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the office door.

"Yes?" he called out.

The door opened, revealing Isabelle. "Mr. Grayson, you are aware that it's getting late, right?" she asked, sheepishly.

The businessman smiled. "I'm well aware, Ms. Winters," he said. "I have some…unfinished business to attend to. You head home. I'll see you in the morning."

"Are you sure?" the secretary asked.

"Positive," Grayson said, not wanting her to be caught in the crossfire. To say the least, the young woman was quickly becoming his new flavor of the month.

"Well then, good night, Mr. Grayson," the woman said, quietly with a smile.

"Good night, Ms. Winters," the CEO said as Isabelle closed the door.

As soon as the door shut, Grayson flipped the switch on his intercom. This transmission, however, was heading to a different area than the front desk.

"Main Security," a voice stated from the other end.

"It's Grayson," the man said, firmly. "Escort Ms. Winters out of the building. After that, take up your assigned positions in the hallway."

"Sir, do you really think that the Titan Killer will be coming after you?" the voice asked.

'The Titan Killer,' Grayson smirked. 'So that's what the media's been calling him.'

"I do," he said, smiling. "In fact, I'm counting on it."

"Very well," the voice said. "We'll be in position shortly."

"Good," Dick said.

With that, he let the intercom go silent. These men knew their jobs. They would sacrifice themselves for Grayson. It was a good thing, he surmised. Chances were they wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance against the mercenary. Still, the commotion would be enough to announce their arrival to him. He was certain of that.

* * *

The elevator slowly crept up the length of the office building as its' lone occupant rotated its' neck. Entering the building had been too easy. Sure, the door had been locked, but no security had been present. Chances are they were waiting at the top floor, ready for interception.

The figure flexed its' hands. When the news had come down of Rose's death, it had been heart-wrenching. Now information had been leaked that Dick Grayson was the one responsible for it. He would pay on this night – not just for Rose and her children, but for every life he cut down so cruelly in his way to becoming a corporate bastard. Retribution was coming, and it would taste oh so sweet.

It was time.

* * *

"Sir, we have someone in the elevator coming up," A voice broke over the intercom in Grayson's office.

"Is it Slade?" he asked, firmly.

"Hard to tell," the voice said. "My guess is that it's…a _woman?_"

"A woman…" The CEO's eyes widened. "John, tell your men to open fire as soon as that door opens. If you don't you won't live to regret it!"

"Understood, sir," John said.

Out in the lobby of Grayson's office, a dozen riot officers stood in formation around the elevator doors, waiting for the moment to strike. As the distinctive DING rang out through the lobby, that moment had arrived.

"OPEN FIRE!" the command went out among the men, followed by the sound of machine gun fire as the team opened up.

But…this wasn't right.

The men stood in shock as their bullets came to a dead stop just outside the sliding doors of the elevator. With a flick of the wrist, the bullets came flying back towards the officers, the impact scattering them away from the doors.

As the men tried to recompose themselves, a slender woman emerged from the confines of the elevator. Her long blonde hair obscured of the right side of her face, and the years had not exactly been kind to her, but one look at her face told the truth: she was the powerful earth manipulator known as Terra. To the surprise of the guards, it seemed that she had added metal manipulation to her set of skills over the years.

"Shit!" One of the officers said, aiming his gun. "Bitch's bulletproof!"

"Then I guess we just need to sent a few hundred more bullets her way," another one yelled. "She can't stop them all!"

Three seconds later, the two guards from that conversation were lying in a pool of their own blood. Turns out that logic had been faulty: not only could Terra stop the bullets, she had some control on where to project them back in order to by pass the armor for a kill shot.

Gun fire ripped across the lobby as the guards desperately tried to find a crack in the woman's defense, but to no avail. Suddenly, three guards rushed out from behind her, their guns ready. Terra jerked her head in their direction , her long hair billowing out in front of her.

It all happened in slow motion. As the woman locked eyes with the three guards, her hair moved back to her side, pushed out of the way by a gloved hand. A .45 came wiping around her face, unloading three precise shots and dispensing of the guards with pinpoint accuracy. Spinning back, the gun fired again, sending the others hurling to the floor.

Terra took a moment to catch her breath. Controlling her power so much had taken a lot out of her. Turning, she smiled at the figure next to her.

"You always have to make an entrance with some sort of flair," she said, playfully.

Slade looked back at her, and chuckled from beneath his mask.

Gunfire brought the two back to the matter at hand. Slade opened up with a sub-machine gun, keeping the guards at bay while Terra continued down the hallway. Quickly, she came to a stop. Standing before her were six heavily armored men, each armed with what appeared to be an electric cattle prod.

"Whoa," she said, stunned. "Grayson doesn't fuck around."

Scanning the area for something she could use, the woman noticed that there was a great deal of debris on the floor from the initial firefight. The lobby had been done in granite in comparison to the marble used in main office – no doubt where Grayson was, watching the events unfold on his security cameras and waiting for them to come after him.

A grin spread over her face as she concocted a plan. Slowly, she summoned her strength and drew all the small pieces to her body, covering her fists with a layer of rock and metal. Her control allowed her to mold the materials into a pair of devilish gauntlets, spiked on the knuckles for maximum destructibility.

With her rock gloves ready, she simply smiled at the armored guards.

"Come and get me," she taunted.

* * *

The five guards attacked at once, hoping to use their numbers to overwhelm the woman. The million-volt prods were capable of putting down a full-grown horse…as long as they managed to hit flesh. But that was proving to be more difficult than they originally perceived as Terra blocked the wands with her rock fists. Ducking under another wild swing, she drilled one of the guards in the face, shattering just about every bone with brute force. She going to take back control with her knuckles.

Another guard screamed as his flesh was shredded from his face by the talons that had become the woman's fingers. This was not what he had signed up for when he had become part of Grayson's personal protection squad. Then again, he was unaware of his boss's motives. If he had been, perhaps he would have taken that job in Metropolis…

Terra slammed her right fist into the chest of a third guard. She could hear the audible CRACK as his sternum broke under the massive impact. He dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks, gasping for air as his chest caved in upon itself.

The last two guards stumbled back, shaking like leaves on a tree. This…this was unreal. They were never trained to handle this type of attack. They had to get out and fast. Before they could make a move, Slade leapt up and over Terra, firing two more bursts from his machine gun. Normally the armor would have held, but the bullets had headed right to the one uncovered area: their faces. The two slumped to the ground, their tattered heads oozing blood as they twitched in their death throes.

As the mercenary tossed away his machine gun, the granite fists crumbled away from the woman's hands. She stumbled forward, catching herself before she collapsed to the ground. The amount of energy she had spent was insurmountable, but it would all be worth it when they had Grayson in their clutches.

Slowly, the two approached the door to the main office. Looking at one another, they nodded in silence.

It was time.

* * *

BLAM! The door to Dick Grayson's office flew off the hinges as Slade kicked it in, sending it across the floor and into the desk. Despite the noisy entrance, the room was eerily quiet.

Peering inside, Terra could make out the wall of achievements that Grayson had earned over the years for his actions – actions that had come with the price of blood. Tonight, the nightmare would end.

The woman could feel her body tense up as she stepped into the room. Something was not right about this…

* * *

CRACK! Grayson's fist made solid contact with the side of Terra's head, flinging her against the wall amidst the plaques. Slade stepped in with a side kick only to be answered by a brute sweep that knocked his to the floor.

Stunned, the two looked up – and found themselves staring down the visage of the former Nightwing. He had barely changed over the years, as his muscles almost seemed to ripple from underneath his business suit.

"Took you long enough," he said, emotionlessly. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

Terra glared at the man as she got back to her feet. "We didn't need any innocent bystanders," she said matter-of-factly. "Our fight's not with the people who work for you. We just want _you_."

Grayson smiled. "I always did like song by Ozzy Osbourne," he laughed.

"Enough games, Dick!" the woman snapped, impatiently. "You killed Rose and her children. Even worse, you let your own team die rather that face Slade yourself. Maybe if you really were the hero you used to be, they'd still be alive."

Though his eyes were hard, Dick's smile still remained. "I'm ten times the hero those fucks remembered," he said, defiantly. "As for them, their time had long passed. They spent their remaining time feeling sorry for themselves. If they had just listened, and followed my example, they'd be here with me now, enjoying the fruits of their labor."

"Yeah," Terra said with a grim smile. "Too bad they all had a conscience."

The three stood in silence, looking each other over. This was going to be the final stand. Only one side was going to win this battle. Slowly, Grayson undid the buttons on his suit jacket. He wanted a full range of movement for this fight. Slade and Terra simply rotated their shoulders, loosing themselves up.

With a quick grin, the former Titan was ready.

"Bring it," he said.

* * *

Slade was the first to strike, launching a powerful kick to the side of Grayson's head. Ducking it swiftly, the CEO delivered a gut shot that double the merc over. No sooner that he had straightened up Terra was headed his way, posting off of Slade's back and catching him by his tie. Not wanting to be hung up, Grayson quickly slipped a hand between the tie's knot and his neck, preventing the woman from strangling him with it. With a quick motion, the businessman pushed his hand out, undoing the knot with a Jackie Chan-like prowess and leaving Terra holding the offending cloth. Free to move, he delivered a kick to the woman's gut and sent her sprawling to the ground.

Slade was back up quickly, delivering a flurry of punches with the skill of a man possessed. However, Grayson dodged half and blocked the other half with ease. He had been training for years for this moment. He had relived every battle he ever had with Slade in his mind like a football team watching the opposition's previous games. He had identified the loopholes, saw where the shortcomings were, and was prepared to deliver a maximum impact with every attack. No energy wasted on fruitless assaults. One punch, one hit, one shot, nothing sacrificed – this was Dick Grayson at his zenith. With a quick catch, he flipped the merc over his shoulder and into the display case where the Red X outfit stood. The glass shattered upon impact, leaving Slade in a sea of jagged edges.

Grayson looked away for a moment at the prone body of the mercenary. It was all the time Terra needed to grab ahold of his jacket sleeve. The former Titan, however, was ready. Spinning around quickly, he shed the jacket and wrapped it around his own hands, trapping Terra's within the fabric and bringing him face-to-face with her.

"Hey, cutie," he said, smirking. "What's shaking?"

A flurry of elbows followed those words, striking the woman in both sides of her head. Stunned, she was thrown back by another powerful kick as Grayson let go of the jacket, leaving him in his white collared shirt.

Slade painfully pulled himself to his feet. Grayson had been harder to handle than he had at first thought. This thought was punctuated by two hands grabbing his shirt and hurling him back across the office over to where the elevator was.

Grayson took a few steps towards the merc – then one step back as Terra launched a standing side kick mere inches from his face. Undaunted, he took a firm grasp of her ankle and proceeded to drive an elbow down into her knee. The woman screamed in pain as the knee buckled but was silenced a moment later by a fierce backhand that laid her out on the floor.

With Terra out for the moment, the businessman slowly sauntered over to the fallen mercenary, smiling as he did so.

"Well, well, well," he said, mockingly as he stood over Slade. "Look what the cat drug in." He punctuated this remark with a kick to the merc's ribs, sending a wave of pain through his being. "Did you really think you could kill me in my own house? This city is _mine_. Everyone worships the ground I walk on."

Grayson chuckled as he put a foot on top of the merc's chest. "Did you really think that you, in your pathetic shape, could take me? I've been waiting my whole life for this very moment! I have being hoping that all those news reports they had about you were lies, that you were just biding your time for one last great hurrah. But I guess it was nothing more than a whimper, wasn't it?"

The former Titan pushed his foot down harder on Slade's chest. He delighted in hearing the strained grunting sounds coming from the merc…so much that he didn't notice Terra getting back to her feet, a length of chain wrapped around her right hand.

"Trust me, Slade," he said, laughing. "You gotta get up pretty early to pull one over on me."

It was then that he felt the cold metal snake around his neck, jerking him back against Terra's body. His eyes went wild as the chain tightened around his throat, holding him in place as well as depriving him of air. In his moment of desperation, his mind had drawn a blank on what to do now.

"I've got him!" Terra screamed, struggling to keep the man under control. "Finish him off!"

Slade said nothing as he pulled a blackened blade from his belt. He was going to drive it deep into Grayson's heart – a fitting end for a social vampire who had been feeding off the fears and desperation of the people in this city for so many years. Finally, the motherfucker was about to get what was coming to him. Stepping forward, he delighted in seeing the once-powerful leader of the Teen Titans know what fear was, to experience it with his own eyes, feel it in his own heart. Yes, this was him at his weakest, right before the end. It was over…

* * *

DING.

The ominous sound caught the attention of all in the room. It had come from Grayson's personal elevator. Staring at the doors, no one knew exactly what to expect next.

The metal door slid open. The sound of crackling energy could be heard from within the metal box, the air teeming with electrical charge. The lightshow dazzled the three, bathing them in an eerie greenish glow. It was then that they saw the eyes. Those emerald eyes. Those eyes were clear.

Terra let herself be taken aback as she stared at the widening doors. She had not expected this at all.

"My God," she whispered. "You're supposed to be dead…"

* * *

Starfire hovered before the three, her teeth mashed together in fury. The final words Slade had left with her had helped her make her decision. Heroes were supposed to die fighting, not begging. If that was the way, then she would gladly go out with a bang.

Slade tore his eyes away from the Tamaranean, and prepared to bury his blade deep within Grayson's chest. It was a mistake he wouldn't soon forget, as one of her bolts slammed into his head, flinging him back against the wall.

Terra stepped back in shock as she watched the mercenary slump to the floor. In doing so, she loosened up her grip on the chain. It was all that Grayson needed.

With a massive head butt, the man slid out form under the metal garrote, and pulled the chain from her hands. Holding one end in his left palm, he spun the remaining length around the knuckles of his right hand, wrapping them tightly in the steel. Then, came a punch. Then another. Then another.

Slade propped himself back up only to see Terra take blow after punishing blow to the face with the makeshift brass knuckles. Quickly, he sprung to his feet – only to have Starfire slam him back up against the wall!

Grayson sneered as Terra feel to her knees in front of him. He had been here once before, at the feet of Mammoth all those years ago. He had been there the moment he became the unstoppable force known as Nightwing, the hero of the Crusade, The New Messiah of the budding Titan City. It was then that Mammoth's last words came to him. Looking at the length of chain in his hand, he smiled. 'Why the hell not?' he thought to himself.

Terra let out a gasp as the businessman whipped the chain around her neck, wrapping it tightly. As she gasped for air, Grayson pulled her to her feet, a twisted smile on his face as he did so.

"Sorry for the wait, Terra," he said, echoing the H.I.V.E. villain's final words, "How about I give you a break?!"

With a massive heave, the man tossed the woman over his head. As she flipped over him, Dick yanked the chain with inhuman force.

The audible CRACK rang out over the office as Terra's neck snapped like a twig. Her body fell with a thud as she broke through Grayson's desk.

"NOOOO!" Slade roared as he watched the woman die in front of his eyes. Furiously, he leapt back to his feet only to be floored again by the angry Tamaranean.

Unwrapping the chain from his hand, Grayson made his way over to the sobbing merc. A grim smile was on his face like that of the Cheshire Cat.

"Score one for the boys back home," he said, laughing.

Kneeling in front of the merc, he shook his head. "How many does this make, Slade?" he asked. "Four? Four people that you cared about cut down because you are a fucking coward?"

Slade roared, and clumsily reached out for Grayson's throat. The CEO simply shifted back on his heels, smiling as he did so. "I'm afraid you tried that already," he continued, smirking. "Didn't work the first time, and it ain't going to work now."

Standing back up, the smile faded from the man's face. "You know, I spent the last twenty years of my life waiting for our final encounter," he said, angrily. "I prepared for the biggest battle of my entire life, and what do I get? A wasted-up has-been who is crying his fucking eyes out over a couple of dead shitbags! You couldn't even put up a decent defense, could you? Terra is a lot better than you are!"

At this, Grayson paused, and looked back at the woman's prone body sprawled across the ruined desk. "Well, she _was_ better than you are," he corrected himself.

As the CEO stood over the broken mercenary, he felt a pit of rage building up inside of him. He had been training all this time for what ended up being a total letdown. Twenty years of his life lost preparing himself for an epic battle against the best killer in the world, the one who had taunted him for so many years, and it was over in a matter of minutes? Not even long enough to enjoy. Sure, Terra was dead, but Slade had simply lost the will to fight. Seeing him in such a state boiled the former hero's blood. The moment he had been dreaming about for so many years had come, and it was an utter disappointment.

"You let me down, Slade," he said, furiously. "You became a shell of what you used to be."

Angrily, Grayson began landing punches on the merc's face, punctuating each blow with a word: "YOU-SHOULDN'T-HAVE-FUCKED-WITH-ME!!!"

As the final fist came down, Slade's mask cracked. Slowly, the black portion fell away from the mercenary's face. What was underneath was enough to make both Grayson and Starfire step back.

The face was distinctly the merc's. So was the long hair. But something was wrong. Very wrong.

Grayson blinked his eyes, trying to see clearly what was in front of him. Looking back, he could see an eye staring back at him from underneath the mane of blonde hair.

"What the fuck…" he muttered.

Starfire brought a hand to her mouth in shock. "Robin," she began, unable to break away from that name in his presence, "That is _not_ Slade."

* * *

Grayson's mind was running. What was going on? The mask, the weapons, and the stance – it had been all so perfect. How could he have been so wrong? How could an imposter have emulated his greatest nemesis so convincingly? There was only one way to get the answer.

Quickly, he pulled the hood off of the merc's head. The remainder of the mask came along with it. As he did so, he was treated to a grim surprise: Underneath that mask was the only man who could have pulled off such a con job, the only one who could have played Grayson so perfectly. He was not Slade, but he had the blood of the merc running through his veins. There was only one who could make that claim…

"Jericho…"


	13. Dead Man Walking

Jericho Wilson sat before the two former heroes. His face was bloodied, but he managed to keep his composure in front of the two. Grayson, on the other hand, let out a chuckle as he put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"You crafty son of a bitch," he mused, shaking his head with a goofy grin on his face. "You got me. You mastered you father's presence perfectly."

Grayson stepped back as he ran a hand through his hair. "I just wish I could know how you did it."

Jericho gave a half-smirk. No need to stay quiet about this. "Why don't you ask me?" he said, his gruff voice echoing in the office. To others, the son of Slade opening his mouth would not have been such a big deal. Then again, others were unaware that Jericho had been a deaf mute during his time with the Titans' extended family. Needless to say, the words caught both Dick and Star by surprise.

"You…you can speak?" the Tamaranean asked, a look of shock on her face.

"For the past seven years," the man said. "I can hear, too. Gotta give it up for medical science."

Grayson stared hard at the man. "That's good," he said, quietly, "'cause I want some answers."

Jericho propped himself up a little more against the wall, glaring at the CEO as he did so. "When the news broke about Rose's death, I figured you were the only one with the influence in this city to hire trained mercs and cover your tracks. So, I donned one of my father's old outfits, and Terra and I came to take our revenge," he said, pausing for a moment as he looked at the woman's broken body. "I figured it would be easy. You've been living in the lap of luxury for so long we thought you'd be an old softie by now."

Grayson smiled. "Well, I'm happy to disappoint you," he said, a snarky tone in his voice.

Confused, Starfire looked down at Jericho, her head cocked to one side. "Why did Terra join you in your efforts to kill Robin?" she asked.

"Terra is my wife…" the man trailed off again for a moment before adding, "…was my wife. We'd been together for ten years, living off the radar. We just wanted to be left alone."

Jericho turned his gaze from the Tamaranean to the businessman, his eyes filled with hate. "But you had to fuck that all up," he said, angrily. "You killed my sister, my niece, and my nephew. Did you really think we were just going to turn our backs and let you get away with that shit?"

"Hold on there, Babalooey," Grayson said, kneeling back down in front of the man. Neither he nor Starfire had noticed the former Titan pick up Jericho's fallen blade. "I sent those mercs out because you decided to murder my friends. I figure you can consider us even now."

Jericho looked back at the man, a surprised expression on his face. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked. "We heard some nutcase was hunting you guys down. That's not my doing."

There was a flash in the night, and the man soon found his own blade pressed against his throat. "Don't fucking lie to me!" Grayson yelled, his teeth bared in fury. "You killed my mentor! Then you murdered Raven and Beast Boy! Now, you better start giving me answers, or I'll make you a mute permanently!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Jericho cried, feeling the edge of the knife slowly cutting its way into his flesh. "Terra and I knew nothing! We were coming to kill you, that's all! I swear it!"

Grayson sat for a moment, pondering the man's words. If what he was saying was true, then who had killed Wayne and the others? It had to be a ploy. No one else could mimic the legendary merc better than his own son. Jericho was simply trying to buy some time in order to find a way out of the situation. Time for one more question.

"Jericho, where's your father?" he asked.

The man was silent for a moment. Little did he know that his answer would ultimately seal his fate.

"He's dead," he said, finally. "Cancer took him almost ten years ago."

That was all Grayson needed to hear. Jericho had been lying. If Slade was truly dead, then it had to be him who caused the murders. Time to settle the score.

"Star," he said, calmly as he rose back to his feet, "kill this piece of shit for me, would ya? Then we'll tell the world that the Titan Killer is dead."

"What the-NO!" Jericho hollered as Starfire raised her hand. "It wasn't me! I SWEAR IT!"

* * *

The sound was ominous, unexpected. As Star prepared to terminate Jericho, her ears picked up the sound of a hovering device. The soft pitter-patter sound drew her attention away from the frightened man and towards the window.

"What is that?" she asked, quietly.

To the amazement of the three, a military helicopter had hovered into position mere feet from the office building's windows.

"A Hind D?" Grayson said in shock as he witnessed the Russian-made copter hovering outside his office. Despite the glare coming from the vehicle's lights, he managed a glimpse inside the cockpit. As he did so, a grimace came to his face.

"Madame Rogue," he growled.

* * *

Twenty five years had not been kind to the Russian villain. Still, her hair remained jet black, and her eyes were still clear. Back at the beginning of 'The Crusade', Rogue had slipped away from the remains of the Brotherhood of Evil and disappeared deep into Siberia in order to discourage the violent Nightwing from giving chase. She was one of only a few supervillains that had tangled with the Titans to escape persecution and still be alive to talk about it.

The villainess put the machine on an auto-hover setting. The call she had received the night before had been a shocker. For the first time in a lifetime, she had been asked to help someone who had never needed help before, even back when she was a young woman and he was a lonely teen struggling to find his niche in the world. Tonight, she would be given the privilege to witness the fall of a god.

"We're here," she said, directing her comments to the back of the copter. "I'm opening the door in three…two…one…"

* * *

"I knew I should have killed that bitch back in the day," Dick muttered. "Well, I still might get that chance."

As the CEO watched, the side door of the Hind D began sliding open. What awaited on the other side was something that chilled Starfire's blood and invigorated Grayson's.

The physique was massive. The mask was back in place over the daunting frame. However, the pitch black hair remained from under the hood, swirling around in the updrafts from the helicopter. There was no mistaking it this time: He was back.

* * *

Grayson smiled widely as he took in the sight of the mercenary. It was as if he had come right out from his memories. Perhaps he would get his wish after all.

Walking up to the window, Dick felt as if he could reach out and touch him. He actually wanted to, just to see if he was real. There was one way to find out…

"Come on, motherfucker!" he screamed.

* * *

It was all so surreal. With a leap that would have made a tiger green with envy, Slade slammed face-first into the office windows. The energy from his impact shattered the glass into minute fragments which seemed to hover in the air momentarily.

The merc's senses were on overdrive. Everything seemed to slow down around him. He was aware of Starfire and Jericho's presence in the building, but he had developed tunnel vision as he set his sights on Grayson. This would be one for the record books.

Dick rolled back as Slade impacted with his body. Pushing his right foot up, he launched the mercenary high over his head and towards the doorway. Unlike his son, however, Slade spun in the air with the majestic nature of a cat, landing on his feet mere inches from the door frame. His eye took in the sight of Grayson running him down, fists balled up to deliver a knockout.

Grayson's first punch soared wildly over the merc's head, while his second was deflected by a forearm. The man quickly followed up the punches with a straight kick that landed dead on – right into the merc's hands! Without hesitation, Slade hit Grayson with a kick that took his other leg out from under him and laid him out on the floor face down.

Slowly, the CEO got up to one knee. A twisted smile covered his face as he looked back at Slade.

"It's you," he said, his voice a feral growl, "It's definitely you."

"You almost seem pleased to see me," the merc said, calmly. "Never thought you be one to embrace death so willingly."

Grayson let out a laugh as he got back to his feet. "Come on Slade," he said, tauntingly. "You've known me for years. Did you think I was just gonna sit around eating filet mignon and drinking cognac until you showed your face again?"

"I suppose not," Slade said, narrowing his eye. "Then again, you were the one who always seemed to have your shit together. All the other Titans had some kind of baggage, something that very well could tear them asunder if they lost everything. Everyone…except you."

"Aww, that's sweet," Dick said, grinning. "A couple more cracks like that, and you'll make me a diabetic."

"I plan on making you a corpse," the merc said, emotionlessly.

"That's wanted I wanted to hear," the businessman said, the twisted smile once again returning to his face.

A fist came sailing through the air as the merc swung at Grayson. The former hero ducked under the punch and rolled out of the way, exchanging positions with Slade. Now it was he who stood near the doorway.

"Done talking, I see," he said, smiling. "All right then – let's take this outside!"

Quickly, he picked up one of the explosive boomerangs that had fell to the ground from the Red-X costume. With a flick of the wrist, he hurled it up into the ceiling…

BLAM! The stone shattered into pieces as a gaping hole appeared in the roof. The cool night air filtered down into the building as the chunks of marble broke into pieces on the ground. Slade covered his face against the blast. As he looked back, Grayson was gone.

'Already on the roof,' he thought.

"Robin!" Starfire cried out, looking up at the hole.

"Uh-uh, sweetheart!" Jericho said, furiously. "You're mine!"

The Tamaranean let out a shriek as the man activated a pair of jet boots and slammed into her, flinging the two of them out the window – and directly at the helicopter!

"Shit!" Madame Rogue exclaimed, quickly opening the other door. With mere moments to spare, the two rocketed right through the copter and off onto a local rooftop. Rogue breathed a sigh of relief. "I need to get to a higher altitude," she said to herself.

* * *

Slade stood alone in the office. Grayson was waiting for him on the roof, and Jericho was busy with Starfire. But these events were not priority in the merc's mind.

He was silent as he stood in front of Terra's twisted frame. Her eyes were open, locked in the shock of her unforeseen death. The pain of guilt ran through his heart as he knelt beside her. It had been a well-known secret that Terra had betrayed the Titans years before as his apprentice. It was a little-known secret, however, that she had been his lover. Time can heal all wounds, but the sight of her in such a pitiful state tore the stitches back open again, leaving him to bleed.

"Terra…I'm sorry," he said, quietly as he stroked her long blonde hair. "I never wanted you to get involved with this. But I knew Jericho would come looking for bloodlust, and you wouldn't let him go on his own."

Slowly, he closed her eyes for the last time. "I can't promise that tonight will end the way it should," he said, firmly, "but I can promise that you will be the last life he ever takes."

It was then, as he knelt beside the body of his former love, that Slade noticed something shining in the rubble of Grayson's desk. His eye widened as he pulled an evidence bag from under the debris.

His gun.

Looking at it for a moment, the pieces came together for Slade: the Gotham City PD must have asked Grayson to eliminate Slade to avenge Bruce Wayne's death. Grayson, not being the one to turn down such an offer, took the opportunity to have Slade kill off the remaining Titans as a ploy to find out where he was hiding and eliminate him with ease. The Titans had been a thorn in the side of Grayson for so long he'd rather them dead than living. Hell, if he hadn't learned of Rose's address from Dukakis, he probably would have had him wipe out other members of the Titan family who had been talking bad about him.

Slade's fists clenched in fury. He had been used as a pawn in Grayson's game. He had planned to kill the Titans expecting it to decimate the former hero emotionally. In the end, it had been Slade who had suffered from Grayson's actions. Perhaps Grayson was better than him…at least, at the mind games.

Pulling the gun from the plastic bag, the merc tossed away the lead merc's .45. Checking it over, he found it to be in operating order. Gun had survived the fire and was still working like a charm. Just the kind of equipment Slade prided himself on having. If he was going to kill Grayson, it might as well be with the gun that had ended so many lives before him.

Placing his pistol back in its holster, Slade looked back up at the hole in the ceiling. Tonight, Grayson was going to learn how more proficient the merc was of a killer than him, that was to be certain.

* * *

Starfire ducked under a wild right cross as Jericho came in strong. The Tamaranean had been caught off-guard by the man's renewed fury. Perhaps it had been the arrival of his father that had spurred him on into taking revenge for Terra's death. Whatever the case, Jericho was a man possessed. Speaking of that, her mind was slight reeling from her life coming back in full swing like it had, but she did her best to avoid eye contact with Jericho as she recalled his ability to possess others. Hopefully the mental shielding the Titans had placed around their minds was still working to protect her tattered brain..

"Jericho, stop this," she said, her eyes glimmering with the emerald-green tint. "I do not want to kill you."

"Oh, really?" the man said, smiling grimly. "What's the matter, Grayson a bit too violent for you?"

"Robin's actions are of no concern to me," Star said, her eyes hardening. "He will do as he wishes, and your father will learn how strong he has become."

"Strong? Grayson? HA!" Jericho said, nearly clipping the woman on the chin with a left hook. "You haven't been paying attention the last few years, have you? Then again, rumor had it that you were an addict, so I can't really blame you. Either way, Grayson's a coward. He hired mercenaries to kill my sister and my father instead of taking them on himself, and you know why he did that?"

"Why don't you enlighten me?" the Tamaranean said, parrying a punch and launching one of her own deep into Jericho's gut.

"OOOFF- Because he afraid," the man wheezed. "He's afraid that all that training, all the experience in taking lives that "The Crusade" gave to him, all his youthful vigor will not be enough. He's afraid he's gonna die – not because of the impact it'll have on the city, but because he won't be able to take his ill-gotten riches with him!"

"YOU LIE!" Starfire screamed, slamming her fist hard into the side of Jericho's face. The momentum sent him flying across the rooftop and into a water tower, which gushed gallons of water across the top of the building as his body broke the surface before collapsing back into the tar.

"Think what you want," the man said as he painfully got to his feet. "You know it's true."

As the two re-engaged in combat, Starfire realized the ugly truth – Jericho was right. Grayson, her Robin, had become a selfish individual, seeking only to protect himself above all. But something in her felt that the boy she loved was still under the surface. All he needed was to be coaxed back out. Ducking under another punch, she caught a glimpse of the Wayne Enterprises rooftop. All she could hope was that he would still be there for her when it was time.

* * *

Slade's muscles bulged under his outfit as he hefted himself up onto the roof. In his younger days, leaping ten feet in the air and pulling himself up would have been a breeze. Now, he let out a grunt as he got back to his feet.

'I'm getting too old for this shit,' he thought to himself.

"There you are," a voice projected towards him from the darkness. "I thought you got lost on the way up here, old man."

"Watch what you say, Grayson," the merc said, turning to face the former Titan. "You should be thankful you won't get to live long enough to be an 'old man'."

The man laughed as he unbuttoned his white collar shirt, revealing an equally white tank top underneath. As he pulled the garment off, Slade took in the physique that laid below. Years of combat training and constant workouts had left Dick Grayson in phenomenal shape. Twelve years retired from his days as Nightwing, he hadn't changed one bit. His sleek, cut frame was carved from pure muscle. If Adonis had still be alive, he would have been green with envy.

"I see you've been preparing for me," the merc said as Dick tossed away the shirt. "I was hoping for that. This way, I can kill you in your prime."

"Nice proposal, but I'm certain there's a fat chance of that happening," Grayson said, smirking. "Now, are we gonna dance, or are we just gonna twiddle?"

Slade simply took up a fighting stance. His eye was taking in every detail he could gather about Grayson. Since he had retired, there hadn't been too much for him to study prior to this night. Sure, he had gone over all the tapes of Nightwing with a fine-toothed comb, but twelve years is long enough for any dog to learn new tricks. For the first time in years, the merc was going into unfamiliar territory against an enemy he didn't know as well as he should have. He grinned behind his mask. This would be one for the books.

* * *

Starfire grunted as she and Jericho clasped hands. With feet planted, the two tried to overpower each other. Normally any human, even one as skilled as Jericho, would have been a breeze for the Tamaranean warrior. But something was wrong. Her power was weakened. Perhaps it had been the years of abuse she had caused to her body. More likely than not, it was due to the feelings that she had about Grayson that were bubbling up to the surface. Since a Tamaranean's strength is based on emotions, the conflict in her mind was causing her to fight in a half-gassed state, incapable of defending herself in her ordinary manner.

"What's the matter, honey?" Jericho sneered, pushing forward. "A little bit under the weather?"

Star gritted her teeth, and pushed back. Now the two were face-to-face as each sought to impose their will on the other.

"Why do you keep fighting?" Jericho said, managing to wrench one of his hands free form the woman's grip. This proved to be a bad decision, as Starfire used her free arm to press against his throat.

"Because of your father said to me," the woman said, firmly. "He told me that heroes die fighting, not begging. Despite what he, or you, or Robin thinks of me, I _am_ a hero. When I die, it will be in a blaze of glory."

The Tamaranean took another step forward. Her strength was building up. Despite this, a smile came across Jericho's face.

"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he grunted, "but things don't always end the way we want."

Starfire was in the middle of processing that statement when the shot rang out. Her eyes widened in shock as a chilling gasp came from her mouth. Her arms seem to lose their power, and slowly flopped back down to her side. With her mind racing with unanswered questions, she looked down…and was met with a grim surprise.

Jericho's pistol smoked form the shot he had embedded in the stomach of the woman. He had known his strength would fail him, so he needed a way out and fast. One gut shot would be enough to incapacitate the woman…permanently.

Almost as if in slow-motion, the Tamaranean dropped to her eyes, her emerald-green eyes locked with his. With a moment's hesitation, she finally pitched forward onto the cold-unforgiving tar.

Jericho slid the gun back into its holster, feeling as his heart beat returned to normal. He hadn't quite been sure that ploy would work. Seemed like he had lucked out again.

Looking back across the street to the Wayne Enterprises building, he could make out two shadows locked in combat on the roof. His father may have been capable of killing Grayson on his own, but he had some unfinished business with the CEO. He would make her pay for killing Terra. Then his father could kill him.

As he readied his rocket boots for a burst, he was stopped by an incessant humming sound. His ears picked up the vibration, but his mind couldn't place it. It was like the sound of a transformer in an electrical grid, or a bug zapper sitting on a porch, or…

His blood ran cold as he identified the noise. 'The sound of collective energy,' he thought.

Slowly, the man turned around, his face slowly being bathed in an eerie green glow.

Starfire looked back at him. One hand was on her stomach, pressed against the wound. The other was straight out in front of her, crackling with alien energy.

"I have had time on this planet to read of the religious stories that you people have complied over the generations," she said coldly, her eyes flickering with fury. "I seem to recall the events that brought down the city which bears your name."

"Shit," Jericho growled. His hand made a move for the pistol. It was simply not fast enough.

"Time for the walls to fall, Jericho!" Starfire yelled, unleashing a powerful bolt of energy. It impacted with the man and sent him careening off the edge of the building in a violent explosion!

"NOOOOAAAAAUGHHHHH!" Jericho's screams slowly dissipated as he fell the multiple stories to the hard concrete below. As silence returned to the rooftop, it was the Tamaranean's turn to look up at the rooftop of Wayne Enterprises. Her hand reached out, as if she could almost touch it, almost touch the man who she loved.

"Robin…" she muttered.

Slowly, her legs gave way, and Starfire collapsed on the roof of the forlorn building, her mind envisioning her love one more time…

* * *

Grayson slid across the rooftop as Slade dropped an axe kick inches from his face.

"What's the matter, old man?" he laughed as he stood back up. "Can't see what you're trying to catch?"

The man's words were quickly answered by a roundhouse kick that left him sprawling.

"I see you just fine," the merc said, calmly.

Dick gritted his teeth. Despite the amount of pain he had caused Slade, the mercenary was still working like a well-oiled machine. He hadn't even managed to rile him one bit. The mentality of Deathstroke was one that did not show weakness, regardless of what his true feelings might have been. Unless Grayson could knock him off-balance somehow, he was in for the fight of his life. Seeing Terra's body may have bothered him, but he hardly flinched because of it. Her death on his conscience didn't make him any sloppier. The businessman decided it was time to take a different approach.

"Hey, Slade," he said, wiping his mouth, "How's your daughter? Still dead, I presume?"

It was small, but Grayson saw it: a twitch in the merc's eye. He was on the right track. All he had to do was push…

"You know, if you had just came here a few nights ago and taken me out mano-a-mano, we wouldn't have had to go through this big ole' song and dance," he continued, with a twisted smile on his face that would have made the Joker uncomfortable. "But no – you had this whole idea that if you murdered the Titans, you'd offset me and put the odds in your favor. Hate to tell you, Slade old boy, but the Titans meant nothing to me!"

"What about Starfire?" the mercenary said, curtly.

"What about her?" Grayson said, sternly. "So you didn't or couldn't kill her. What the fuck's that mean to me? What we had died with Jinx and the rest of those fuckholes back in Jump City First National! Not my fault she can't let go of the past!"

"So, you're blameless in regards to her current condition?" Slade asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fuck yeah!" Grayson snarled. "Stupid bitch can't wake up and smell the cow pies? No skin off my back. Never could stand dealing with those who couldn't make it on their own."

"Like you?" the merc asked.

Dick was about to answer when he realized the truth: Slade was playing him. He was trying to take his mind of the battle at hand so he could gain the advantage. Shaking his head, he almost had to respect him for turning the tables on the mind games so easily. Now, however, it was time to end it.

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "I killed all lot of motherfuckers to get here, and in order to stay here, I'm about to kill YOU!"

The moment the words flew off of the CEO's tongue his legs were in the air, bringing a powerful spinning back kick that planted itself directly into Slade's chest. The mercenary staggered back a few steps but managed to parry the accompanying punches that followed. Regaining his balance, he caught Grayson's final punch and used the momentum to flip the man over his shoulder and into an air conditioning unit. The metal made a sickening CLANG as Grayson's body struck it with massive force – enough to knock the wind out of the former Titan.

As Dick gasped for air, Slade moved in for the kill. Grayson was down, but he wasn't out. He was still dangerous, and he had to be ready for a counter-attack. The businessman could hear the mercenary's footsteps coming towards him. Quickly, he scooped up a bit of the dried tar that had broken up from the city's extreme hear wave. 'Need to get those contractors back out here when this is all over,' he thought. 'They did a shitty job.'

As Slade reached down to grab a handful of Grayson's hair, he was caught off-guard as the man tossed the powdered substance in his face, effectively blinding his eye. Within seconds, Grayson was back on his feet and launching brutal attacks against the merc. Though Slade's other senses served to feed him information about his surroundings, they simply could not keep up with Dick movements. He would block a front kick only to get caught in the back of the head with a roundhouse delivered by the other leg. Each attack blocked allowed another one to get through, drilling the hardened merc with bombs that would have knocked a wildebeest out cold.

With one mighty flying knee, Grayson laid Slade out on the rooftop, slamming him hard into the top of the ventilation ducts. Blinded and disoriented, the mercenary did all he could to clear the foreign substance from his eye. Seeing this, the former Titan laughed, his laughter a cracked twisted version of what it should have been.

"Look at you, Slade!" he taunted, slowly moving in on his incapacitated enemy. "You're out of your league! You shoulda just let that cancer eat you alive from the inside out! It would have saved you from dealing with me!"

Grayson smiled as he took in a breath of the crisp night air. His power was at its' zenith. He was one shot away from accomplishing the only life goal he had failed to conquer. With his fist clenched tightly, he raised his hand high.

"Did you really think you could defeat a god?!" he cried. With that, he swiftly brought the hammer down. Technical knockout…

* * *

Grayson's fingers felt like they were reaching the breaking point. His eyes widened as he watched Slade's hand shoot out from the darkness like a cobra and catch his knockout punch in a vise-like grip. The moment it took for shock to register in Grayson's mind was all the merc needed.

"My turn," he said, driving a kick up and under Grayson's chin, sending him stumbling back. No sooner than he had gotten his bearings Slade delivered a crippling kick to his right arm. The man hollered in pain as the bones in his arm nearly snapped from the impact. This was only the beginning.

The former Titan found himself on the defensive from a brutal combination of kicks and punches that seemed to weasel their way through his guard. In his desperation, Dick had reverted to his old styles of fighting. He was very good at them, but there was a problem: Slade knew all of his moves, some even better than the man himself. As another punch cracked his left cheekbone, Grayson wondered for a moment if this was what it had been like for Bruce at the end – to face a man who knew them better than they knew themselves. He tried firing off a few shots of his own, but Slade danced around his punches in a way that Muhammad Ali had only dreamed about. All the training and the killing Grayson had done had only proven him to be a murderer – a brute vigilante who had survived 'The Crusade' only because of his element of surprise and his high-tech weaponry. Slade, on the other hand, was a killer – cold, calculating, capable of killing a war machine with a tea cup. No amount of technological marvel or false bravado could outweigh the sheer unyielding advantage of experience. Dick Grayson, the former Nightwing, the 'Messiah of Titan City', was learning this cold hard fact the hard way.

With a final push, Slade landed a spinning back kick to Dick's head, the force so powerful it flipped the man head over heels and onto the rooftop. It was done. Grayson's fight was all but gone from him. He was a broken man with only his words and his money to bully others around with. In the end, he had folded against the mercenary.

Dick's eyes rolled around in his head as he got to his knees. His nose was busted, and blood leaked from it and his mouth. His dark black hair was sticking to his face, pasted there by the sweat that had collected. He was a mess. His body felt like raw hamburger meat. His lungs were gasping for air, more air than his body could apparently muster. This was truly Dick Grayson at his weakness, right before the end.

The businessman was aware of Slade's presence standing over him. The merc, meanwhile, simply waited for the moment. The moment when it would come to an end.

Slowly, Grayson looked up, locking his eyes with Slade's. That moment had arrived.

The gun cleared the holster – the same gun that had killed Raven, Beast Boy, Batman, Barbara Gordon, and countless before them. The gun that would now end Dick Grayson's life and free a city from the hands of a corrupt businessman and a monster, a monster who had lived entirely too long.

Grayson heard the CLICK. He saw the dark tunnel situated before him. This was one he never thought he'd had to travel down. Every nerve in his body told him to move, but the rest of him was just too tired to heed its' warning. This was it. The greatest hero in the history of the city – of the world, in his opinion – would die at the hands of a ghost from Titans' past. What a fucking joke. If the Joker hadn't fallen into that cannery processor all those years ago, he'd have probably read the newspaper tomorrow morning and laugh himself limp from the irony.

Slowly, Slade's finger squeezed the trigger. It was time to feel recoil.

* * *

BLAM!

Grayson watched in awe as Slade shot back several feet, slamming hard enough into the ventilation ducts to leave an imprint. A massive burst had gone off in his face from out of nowhere.

Still on his knees, Dick sat staring at the merc's body. It wasn't moving. Whatever that blast had, it was enough. He could swear that even Slade's chest was still. Could it be? Was Slade Wilson finally…dead?

Slowly, almost zombie-like, the man turned his head back towards the edge of the building. He swore that was where the blast had originated. As he did so, he was met with a stunning surprise.

Starfire stood mere feet from him, her arm outstretched in front of her. Her breathing was very labored, as the gunshot she received from Jericho had done some extensive damage.

"Starfire?" Grayson said, almost failing to recognize her in his stunned state.

The Tamaranean smiled, exposing a set of blood-stained teeth. "Robin…" she whispered.

With a great deal of difficulty, the woman knelt down next to Dick. Her one hand was still clutched tightly to her stomach, but the blood had slowly seeped around her fingers and down the front of her skirt. She was a total mess, but she was now with the man she had loved for so long. All she wanted was to hear his voice again.

"Well, looks like we barely got out of this one, eh?" she said, breathing heavily.

At this, Grayson smiled. The woman's heart practically melted. She hadn't seen that smile in so long she could barely remember what it had looked like.

"Star, you saved my life," he said, thoughtfully.

Starfire giggled ever so slightly, her own smile wider than ever. Dick's smile was so…sweet, so genuine. So much that it made the next words she heard all the stranger.

"It's about time you got something right, cunt."

The Tamaranean's smile slowly faded from her face. Had she heard him right? Or was this just her mind playing tricks on her again?

"Robin, I…" she began, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

Grayson stood up in a huff, knocking her hand off of him. "Don't touch me, bitch!" he said, firmly. "I don't need your blood all over me! It'll clash with my suit!"

Starfire's mind sat on the verge of breaking. Why did Robin hate her so? She had just saved his life, yet he was angry about it, angry at her for reasons she couldn't quite understand. Was this the reason she had self-medicated for so long – to escape the beast that had become the man she loved?

"Robin, please," she called out, reaching her hand out towards him. "Help me."

Dick chuckled to himself as he looked down at his former lover. "What would you like me to do, Star?" he asked, a tone of irritation in his voice. "Call you an ambulance? With all the shit that's gone on so far, it'll take them thirty minutes to get here. You're gutshot, so you'll be dead in twenty. Far be it from me to waste the time and resources of the Titan City Medical Center on a lost cause."

The woman's jaw dropped. Robin would leave her here to die! This…this could not be happening. Robin would never leave one of his own behind, even if it was a useless gesture. Then again, hadn't Slade informed her that the other Titans were dead? Robin did not look too shook up about that news. Had he grown so distant from all those killings that he had no feelings towards anyone else but himself?

"Robin, you cannot leave me here," she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "You are not capable of such sadistic decisions!"

"Oh, I'm not, am I?" Grayson said, putting his hands on his hips. "How would you know? You haven't been able to see past your own toes for the past two years! You haven't seen what I'm capable of! I am the lifeblood of this city! I keep it alive and well, protect it from fucks like Slade and all those other two-bit shitbowls who think they've got what it takes to be villains!"

Starfire shrunk back as the man continued his tirade. "You know something?" he said, "I'm almost glad Slade put Bruce out to pasture! With my stocks and my position in the corporation, it won't be too long before the board makes _me _the CEO of the entire company! Don't you see, Star? I am a god in this city now! King Kong ain't got shit on ME!"

Pausing for a moment, the businessman smiled. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," he said calmly. "I'm going to watch you die. Then, I'm going downstairs to tell the whole world how you saved my life at the cost of your own. After the investigation is complete, I will pay for you, Raven, and Beast Boy to have an extravagant funeral. You know those ones they have down in New Orleans? They won't be able to hold a candle to what I'll have planned for you – even though you and I both know you don't deserve it. None of you deserve to be buried like heroes. You're all a bunch of fucking has-been rejects. The only thing you ever did right was giving me the platform I needed to spring off of in order to save this city. All that aside, though, there won't be a dry eye in the house. A good speech, a little melodramatic acting, and everyone will be mourning you and the others until the fucking Second Coming!"

The man grinned as he stared at Starfire's stunned expression. It was about time she finally realized how worthless she really was. Brushing off his pants, he sniffed.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, calmly, "I have a press conference to arrange."

As he turned to leave, one more item of thought crossed his mind.

"Oh yeah," he said, looking back at the woman. "Star, you were a hero once…so do me a favor, and try to die with a little fucking dignity."

With that said, the CEO turned and headed back for the hole he had blown in the roof that led back to his office. As he did so, Starfire sat in silence, tears streaming freely down her face. Slade had been right. Her Robin was no more. In his place was a creature that bared little resemblance to the boy she had met all those years ago, the one she kissed once in order to learn English, and twice to cement their relationship years later. She had only one question left. As the blood slowly leaked from her body, there was no better time than now to ask it.

"Robin…" she said, biting her lip.

The man stopped a few steps from the hole. "What?" he asked, curtly.

"I just have to know…" Star said, quietly. "Did…did you ever…_really_ love me?"

Grayson let out a deep sigh, and stole a glance up at the starry sky. "Yeah, I did," he said, quietly. "But I outgrew you. As I remember, you were never the one who could understand why I did what I had to do. For being a member of a warrior race, you seemed pretty intent on rationalizing nonviolence instead of putting those fucks down like the rabid dogs they were. When you proved you couldn't understand me, I knew I didn't need you anymore. You would only hold me back."

The words rung in Starfire's ears, but she had her answer. It was all she needed to make her decision.

"Well, you are not the only one who remembers our life, Robin," she said, grunting as she got back to her feet. "I remember what you said to me all those years ago during our lovemaking, right before you decided you didn't need me anymore. You told me that, as heroes, we never get to die peacefully. It is simply not our way. You told me that either we die as heroes…or we live long enough to see ourselves become the enemy."

Dick shook his head, and sighed again. "Good memory, Star," he said, chuckling. "Didn't think you had it in you. Now, what the fuck are you getting at?"

Turning to face the woman, Grayson's eyes widened. His pulse quickened as he took in the sight before him.

Starfire stood tall, her hand crackling with alien energy. Her eyes had hardened, and her jaw was set. Her impending death didn't seem to matter to her now. All her eyes saw was anger.

"What the fuck are you doing?" the man snarled, taking a step back. "Are you crazy?!"

"No," Star said, sadly as her hand glowed with power. "I am saner now than I have ever been. This is how it must end. The city should remember you for what you were – not what you have become."

"You're delusional, Star!" Grayson said, taking a step closer to his old flame – a flame that seemed to be burning brighter by the minute. "You don't want this!"

"Yes I do," she said, swallowing hard.

Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was at a standstill. "What do you think you'll accomplish by doing this, Starfire?" he asked, his voice as hard and cold as it had been the day Nightwing ended the Titans.

The Tamaranean smiled sadly. "I am giving this city the man I fell in love with," she said. "I am making you a hero again."

The energy erupted from Starfire's hands. The sheer shockwave was enough to stumble the woman herself. As for Grayson…

* * *

"STAR! NO!" Dick Grayson screamed at the top of his lungs as the energy bolt caught him in the chest. The blast sent him flying high through the air…and off the edge of Wayne Enterprises' newest office building.

As he flailed in the air, the CEO had time to reflect on his life. Slade was dead, and Star would be next. The true shame of it all would be that he wouldn't be there to enjoy it…

Grayson's train of thought was shattered as he impacted the unforgiving concrete. It was fitting. Most of the rest of him had shattered as well.

The crimson pool built quickly around the businessman. As it poured off into a nearby storm drain, the first few screams of horror went up. More would follow eventually, that was to be certain.

Dick Grayson, master of his domain, the Messiah of Titan City, the man who knew everything seemed to have been wrong about one thing – he was not a god after all. In the end, the truth was evident - gravity works.

* * *

Starfire let out a shudder as she dropped her arm back to her side. It had killed her deep on the inside, but she knew it had to be done. She knew the truth now. Her beloved Robin had died many years ago, with only the shell left to die on the streets below. It was not an easy task, but nothing of that magnitude ever is.

Grimacing in pain, she clutched her stomach with both hands. She could feel her life force draining slowly with every heart beat as more blood pumped from her gut. Despite this, she was well aware of the figure who stood behind her, one who knew what it was like to die slowly. Perhaps he would finally help her settle this.

"Is it over?" she asked, softly. She closed her eyes as she felt the gloved hand grab her shoulder.

"Almost," Slade's voice whispered in her ear. She didn't have to ask what that phrase meant. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up.

"Make it quick," she said, firmly.

She could almost see the merc pulling the gun from its holster, pulling it for the last time. She felt the cold steel press against the back of her head. This…this was to be a glorious death.

"That I can promise…"

* * *

Slade squeezed the trigger. As the shot rang in his ears, he felt the warm blood splash onto his chest and face. Releasing Starfire's shoulder, he watched as she dropped to her knees, lingering for but a second before finally dropping to the rooftop.

The merc's hand loosened, his pistol falling from his grip and landing with a clatter on the hardened tar. The last move had been made. However, as Slade stared down at the woman's body, he was contemplating all that had been lost to reach this point. Was this revenge, this termination of a bad seed so important that other lives deserved to be sacrificed for it? Was the notion, the hope that the city could live without the presence of a glorified boogeyman breathing down its' neck, worth the loss? Some may say yes, it was; the loss of the few is needed in order to save the many. Then again, those same people might have balked if it had been their loved ones than needed to be sacrificed in order for the plan to come to fruition. As the merc looked back on the last few nights, the blood that had been shed in order to bring true freedom to Titan City, he realized the truth: There was one person left to dispose of. Then, and only then, could this city truly be free.

* * *

Madame Rogue peered out the window of the Hind D. Her eyes took in the sight of the battle-weary mercenary standing before the slain Starfire. Looking up, he seemed…uncertain. Then, he brought two fingers to the mouthpiece of his mask, almost as if to blow a kiss. Finally, he waved the two-finger salute in a wide arch. Rogue bit her lip, fighting back tears as she did so.

"Good-bye, Slade Wilson," she whispered to herself, knowing very well this may be the last time she ever sees him. "I hope that you can find sanctity for yourself in the afterlife."

* * *

Slade looked up into the night sky as the helicopter flew away. The police were on their way. He could hear the sirens in the distance along with that of the ambulances. It was time to leave.

His heart weighted heavy as he looked down over the edge of the building. A crowd had gathered around the body of Grayson. Tears were being shed for his death. If they only knew what he had done in order to stay in power. They would never know, of course – the media would make sure of that. They would mourn him, as well as all the other Titans that had passed. Unlike Grayson, the people of this city had least had respect for the former teen protectors of the city. Maybe there was hope for them yet…

Taking a deep breath, the mercenary raised his left foot, and stuck it out over the ledge. Tension gripped his heart, as it always had when he did this. Living on the edge, always waiting for that one strong gust to blow him off – that was how Slade Wilson had lived his life. It would be fitting to end his life that way. If only that were the case…

With a small push off, the merc dropped off the side of the building, heading where the night would take him…


	14. Lonely Day

"Good morning, Titan City. This is WJMP News, Fox Channel 6, with the news you need at the time you need it. Trisha Williams reporting. It's seven o'clock on this morning, and the top story here today is the fall of Titan City's greatest hero, Dick Grayson. With that, I had it over to my colleague, Dave Anderson. Dave?"

"Thank you, Trisha. Hundreds came out in attendance early this morning to witness the aftermath of what many hope to be the final violent chapter in Titan City's history. Dick Grayson, the former Teen Titan known both as Robin and later as Nightwing who rose to prominence as the hero of 'The Crusade' and later the CEO of Wayne Enterprises' Titan City Branch, was attacked in his office building late last night by two former Titan members. It is believed that the two overpowered the former Titan and sent him to the streets below, where his body was later recovered. The former Titans have been identified as Terra and Jericho Wilson, both of whom were found dead as result of the scuffle. Also lost during the struggle was reclusive former Titan Starfire, whose body was found on the roof of the office building.

Police authorities are not commenting on whether or not any evidence links Terra or Jericho Wilson to the deaths of former Teen Titans Rachel Roth and Garfield Logan, both remembered by this city as Raven and Beast Boy respectively. They are also not commenting on reports that a masked man bearing resemblance to Deathstroke, the mercenary name of Slade Wilson, was seen leaving the scene of the murders. It has been confirmed, however, that the security tapes from the office building are indeed missing, leaving a rather large gap for authorities to fill in.

WJMP News arrived at Wayne Enterprises early this morning. Like usual, a crowd gathered around the building. However, these people were well aware that Grayson would not be coming…"

(Screen changes to outside Wayne Enterprises, Titan City Branch. People are in mourning. A young man is being interviewed by the news team.) "-Grayson was the best damn thing that ever happened to this city. He stood for justice, and he wouldn't back down from any challenge. If those reports are right, that Slade Wilson really is alive, then I'm willing to bet he's sitting pretty somewhere in Cancun drinking margaritas and laughing about this. Wherever he is, he's probably the happiest man in the world right now."

(Screen changes back to the newsroom.) "Dick Grayson will be buried in Titan City Cemetery and interred with the members of the Teen Titans, the heroes who had stood beside both Robin and Nightwing in this city's long storied history and quite possibly his greatest friends. Grayson was 45. Now, we'll take a look at the forecast for the rest of the week, and it looks like some relief is finally on the way…"

* * *

The storm clouds had already worked their way in over the state. Rain had already began to fall in sheets over a small, quiet cemetery miles from Titan City's more prestigious burial ground. But Evergreen Cemetery was a small place a little off the beat path, a place where those who came to visit their loved ones could do so in solitude and silence without the hustle and bustle of city life ringing in their ears. The rain had caused many of the visitors to seek shelter under one of the many gondolas that peppered the grounds, but one was not affected by the weather.

Slade stood in silence, his eye trained on the headstone that sat before him. Through the rain, the pain, and his own tears, the words were becoming a bit jumbled. It didn't matter. He knew what they said. He had them down by heart. After all, he was the one who commissioned it. Closing his eye, he ran them through his mind again:

_Here lies Rose Wilson_

_A daughter of a madman_

_A mother of two_

_A fighter, a survivor_

_A person who deserved more than she ever knew_

_With her are her children_

_Malcolm at three, Catlin at seven_

_Taken before they could know what the world was capable of _

_All on their way to a world where life is eternal_

_A Lioness and her cubs, forever in a perfect world._

The mercenary sighed. He had never been one for poetry, but he tried his best to give them an epitaph that sounded meaningful. He could almost hear Rose's laughter, her voice saying, "Dad, that was horrible."

The grief hit him hard. Slowly, he dropped to his knees, leaning his head onto the cold marble stone. He had managed to sneak the bodies out of the city's morgue in order to bury them. With the cases of the 'Titan Killer' and Grayson's death now being priority, it would be weeks before they even noticed the three were gone. They deserved this, a quiet plot in the ground, not sitting in an industrial freezer like a pack of forgotten steaks until they caught freezer burn.

The wave of grief passed over him. There was nothing more he could do to help them. He had come to terms with that answer that had antagonized him before. Grayson was dead, the Titans were no more, and Titan City had the chance to make its' own destiny again – a chance they had been robbed of more than twenty years before.

Slade got back to his feet. With one hand, he slid his mask off from his face, the very mask he had been spending his whole life hiding behind. It was all anyone ever knew of him, including his own family. Crouching down, he placed the mask on top of the moist ground. Today, Deathstroke was no more. There was only Slade Wilson – a man who had made many mistakes, cost many people their lives, harmed far too many to ever truly be saved. He knew that if he had not taken Rose and her children himself, the city would most likely have burned their bodies with half a dozen others in an incinerator. No respect, no remorse – all because they shared his name. He may have been damned, but he wasn't about to take good people down with him…

'Good people,' he surmised. 'Rachel was a good person. So were Garfield and Starfire. Deep beneath the scars, the darkness that Grayson imprinted on their souls were people who deserved better. They died like heroes – fighting to the very end. It may not have been against villains, but they lived each day their own way, ready for anything. Grayson, on the other hand, was dead – he had died long ago, the day he decided to stop being a hero and chose to become a bastard, hiding behind his wealth and his connections in order to maintain order. He deserved to die, but I killed all of them just the same. True, they had gone without much of a fight, but they were good people. Maybe I'm still as much of a monster now as I was back then. The only difference now…is that I know what I have to do.'

Standing back up, Slade stole one last glance at the tombstone. This would be the last time he saw his family. He was almost certain of this. As he walked away from the best thing he had in his life, his mind was set. One more life. Then, peace would come at last.

* * *

Michael Willis was cleaning up his surgical tools when the door swung open. The coroner was used to unexpected entries to the morgue – especially in the calamity that had followed the death of Bruce Wayne – but the face he saw as the figure entered the bright lights of the autopsy table was a surprise for him indeed…

"Michael, I didn't expect to see you here today," the coroner said as Captain Zeddemore's face came into view.

"Yeah, well the little song and dance I did for the media earlier seems to have placated them for now," Z said, looking down at the table in front of him. He had been here a handful of times, most when he was a rookie and the body had been a decoy of what to expect. Recently, he had been here too many times, looking down at faces of people he knew. Today was no exception.

"I'll tell you something, I never thought I'd live to see him on my table," Willis said.

The cold body of Dick Grayson sat before the two. Despite the fall, much of his body was still somewhat intact.

"Surprised he stayed together so well," Zeddemore said, scratching his head uncomfortably. "Most road pizza I've ever seen usually pop like an overfilled balloon."

"Yeah, his body was incredibly resilient," the coroner said, pulling the sheet up to cover the Y-incision he had carved into Grayson's chest in order to perform the autopsy. "Not resilient enough to survive a forty-story drop, it seems."

"No one's is," Z said, sighing. "So much for being a god."

"That's the arrogance of men," Willis said as he began wheeling the body out of the room. "I recognized it way back when he killed those H.I.V.E members in that bank heist your dad was covering. I was just a snot-nosed little assistant then, but I knew Grayson was going do a dark path. It was hard see, but the truth remains unbroken: In the end, absolute power corrupts absolutely."

The coroner wheeled Grayson's body into a chilled room. Slowly he placed it in line with the others who had been autopsied and were nearing time for release. Taking a deep breath in the cold air, Willis could see it. One of the little fascinating things of being alive, he surmised. None of the other bodies in the room could do that.

"So," he said, turning his attention back to the police captain as he exited the room, "how do you plan on breaking the news to your father?"

Zeddemore chuckled grimly. "Hopefully in a way that won't cause him a heart attack," he joked. "I don't know, Mike. He's gonna take this pretty hard."

"How are you doing, by the way?" the coroner asked.

Z smiled sadly. "I'm okay," he said, thinking back on the last words he had with Grayson. "In fact, I'm better than I would have expected."

"What do you mean?" Willis asked, a look of confusion on his face.

The captain placed a hand on the coroner's shoulder, smiling as he did so. "Let's just say that I know a little something about that dark path."

Willis didn't push the issue, but he understood what the man was getting at.

"You…wanna get something to eat?" he asked, smiling.

"Hell yeah," Zeddemore said, grinning. "Hot coffee and half a donut does not a breakfast make."

As the two men continued down the hallway, Grayson's body sat motionless in the frigid room. Next to him was Starfire, the bullet hole still visible from where it had exited out the front of her head. Next to her was Garfield, his cold face showing a lot more wrinkles than he probably would have cared to be shown. Finally at the end of the row, past the cold body of Kate Logan, sat Raven, the one woman Logan ever truly loved. Her somber expression finally seemed to be at peace. Her spirit was gone, back to Azareth, her vessel left behind as a memento to her life as a hero.

In a series of unfortunate events it seemed that, in death, the Titans had finally been reunited. In a cold storage room in Titan City Medical, the saga of the Teen Titans had finally come to an end.

* * *

Slade's boots made an ominous echo with each step. The rusty walls of Titan City's old clock tower had stood the test of time, much like the man who had once occupied it. But now it was falling apart, fit only to be demolished – once again, much like the man who had once occupied it.

The mercenary had come back to this place in order to make the final move, the last thing he had to do to ensure the freedom of Titan City from the darkness.

It was time.

Punching in a few keys into the old worn-out computer, he set the device on a course for an overload, destroying all the data he had complied over the years on all his targets. No need in the media taking his little black Book of the Dead and parading it around for some extra ratings. Then, he brought up a screen that had been familiar to him so many years ago. It was this screen he had active when he had forced Robin to become his apprentice. The Titans had been in shock of his betrayal, but they had only been half-informed. During their last confrontation, Slade had infected the Titans with a destructive army of nanobots that would destroy them from the inside out. Robin had let his services to the mercenary in order to keep them alive. How much he had cared for them in his young age, Slade surmised. Anyway, Robin infected himself when Slade activated the mechanized menace, forcing him to either free the Titans or allow Robin to die along with the others. Such a smart boy, playing Slade's game to perfection. It was a shame that he had forgotten that talent while he was murdering villains with military grade weaponry.

Looking up at the screen, the merc knew his days were numbered. The last batch of nanobots were nearing the end of the power cycle. They would go offline in a matter of hours. It had been these nanobots that had kept Slade alive for so long. By reprogramming them, he had stayed off the infection of the cancerous tumors that plagued his body and rebuilt much of his original self in the process. It had been these microscopic bots that had allowed him to survive the grenade blast in Rose's home. That level of genetic replication, however, had cost a great deal of energy. The merc grimaced. This was his last batch of nanobots. He had neither the time nor the funds to create more. It didn't matter now, anyway. His work was done.

Punching in a few more keys on the console, Slade watched as a small trigger mechanism rose up out of the keyboard. The emergency fail-safe device was soon in his hand. In his final act, the last life the legendary mercenary Deathstroke the Terminator would take would be his own.

Slowly, he laid down on the old, rusted examination table in the middle of the room. He knew that with the police investigation slowly going cold, they would soon storm this stronghold in an attempt to find evidence. What they would find would be all they needed to piece the puzzle together. Try as they might, the media would likely have no choice but to admit to the world that Slade Wilson had indeed been responsible for the deaths that had plagued the city for nearly a week. Finally, the people of Titan City would be privy to the truth – not all of it, but just enough to set the wheels in motion.

The cold metal leeched through his suit, sending chills down his spine. Never once in Slade's life did he think that his death would be at his own hands. Then again, he never thought he could be anything more than an emotionless killer. Now…he was still a killer. His actions had shown that much to be true. But he had access to his emotions again, and in some way it made him feel a little more…_human._

Taking a deep breath, the merc hovered his finger over the button. One last death.

As he pressed down, Slade felt a wave of pain and nausea overwhelm him. His body tightened in agony as the nanobots finally allowed the tumors to claim their prize. As his conscience slipped away, Slade found himself wondering what would await him on the other side. Would there be flames, or flowers? Perhaps he was being too spiritual. Maybe there was nothing on the other side of this life. Perhaps many years ago Slade would have believed that to be the truth. Now, however, he almost hoped that there was at least something. Even if he was hell bound, at least there would be something. The last great mystery of life would soon reveal its' answer to him…

The fail-safe fell from Slade's limp hand. His body finally relaxed as death took him on its' wings. His one eye remained open, starting aimlessly into the sky. Lightning shot across the clouds as the rain finally began to fall on Titan City, a rain that seemed to be coming to wash the sin away from its' hallowed walls.

As the rain pelted the lifeless body of the world's greatest mercenary, the world's greatest unsung hero, his right hand opened. Rose's rosary beads dangled on the end of his gloved fingers, the small ebony cross swaying in the breeze that tore through the tower.

The endgame had come. Titan City was free, and the monster was dead. Slade gave himself up knowing that the world would hate him, but those who knew the truth would understand what had to be done, the sacrifice that had been made to ensure that Titan City could finally be free from the darkness.

The clock face had frozen up many years ago, but the furious winds managed to push the hands up one more notch. Twelve o' clock. The tower rang out its' lonesome tone, twelve chimes for the fallen.

Slade Wilson had completed the final move in the chess game of life. He was dead. The clock tower stood ominously in the shadows of the city, chiming out the final notes of its' life, of Slade's life. As the sound faded into the storm-brewed sky, the clock face remained in its' position, forever locked at midnight, the time of rebirth and retribution.

The final stroke had come.


End file.
